pley had found acquaintances. The talker was a lady of about her
own age; a gentleman stood near, a little behind was a younger lady,
while Rupert balanced the group on the other side.

"There's something uncommon over yonder," whispered Lawrence. "Do you
see that blond girl? not blond neither, for her hair isn't; but what an
exquisite colour!--and magnificent figure. Do you know her?"

"No," said Dolly,--"I think not. Yet I do. Who can it be? I do not know
the one talking to mother."

"And this is she?" the elder lady was saying as Dolly now came up,
looking at her with a smiling face. "It's quite delightful to meet
friends in the midst of a wilderness so; like the print of a man's foot
on the sands in a desert; for really, in the midst of strange people
one feels cast away. She's handsomer than you were, Mrs. Copley. My
dear, do you know your old schoolfellow?"

"Christina Thayer!" exclaimed Dolly, as the other young lady came
forward; and there was a joyful recognition on both sides.

"Who is your friend?" Mrs. Thayer next went on. "Won't you introduce
him?--St. Leger? Don't I know your father? Ernest Singleton St.
Leger?--Yes! Why, he was a great beau of mine once, a good while ago,
you know," she added, nodding. "You might not think it, but he was. Oh,
I know him very well; I know him like a book. You must be my friend.
Christina, this is Mr. St. Leger; my old friend's son.--Mr. Thayer."

Mr. Thayer was nothing remarkable. But Christina had fulfilled the
promise of her girlhood, and developed into a magnificent beauty. Her
skin showed the richest, clear, creamy white tints, upon which in her
cheeks and lips the carmine lay like rose leaves. Her hair was light
brown and abundant, features regular, eyes sweet; she was one of those
fair, full, stately, placid Saxon types of beauty, which are not very
common in America and remarkable anywhere. Her figure was roundly and
finely developed, rather stately and slow moving; which characteristic
harmonised with all the rest of her. The two girls were as unlike each
other as possible. It amused and half fascinated Lawrence to watch the
contrast. It seemed to be noon of a summer day in the soul of
Christina, a still breadth of light without shadow; there was a murmur
of content in her voice when she spoke, and a ripple of content in her
laugh when she laughed. But the light quivered on Dolly's lip, and
gleamed and sparkled in her brown eyes, and light and shadow could fli