sed old ocean it was; cajoled, flattered, and feted where it lay!
An odd recollection of the turbid Stanislaus hurrying by the ascetic
pines, of the grim outlines of Deadwood Hill, swam before his eyes,
and made the yellow green of the velvet lawn and graceful foliage seem
almost tropical by contrast. And, looking up, a few yards distant he
beheld a tall slip of a girl gazing upon the sea,--Blanche Masterman.

She had plucked somewhere a large fan-shaped leaf, which she held
parasol-wise, shading the blond masses of her hair, and hiding her gray
eyes. She had changed her festal dress, with its amplitude of flounce
and train, for a closely fitting half-antique habit whose scant outlines
would have been trying to limbs less shapely, but which prettily
accented the graceful curves and sweeping lines of this Greyport
goddess. As Islington rose, she came toward him with a frankly
outstretched hand and unconstrained manner. Had she observed him first?
I don't know.

They sat down together on a rustic seat, Miss Blanche facing the sea,
and shading her eyes with the leaf.

"I don't really know how long I have been sitting here," said Islington,
"or whether I have not been actually asleep and dreaming. It seemed too
lovely a morning to go to bed. But you?"

From behind the leaf, it appeared that Miss Blanche, on retiring, had
been pursued by a hideous winged bug which defied the efforts of herself
and maid to dislodge. Odin, the Spitz dog, had insisted upon scratching
at the door. And it made her eyes red to sleep in the morning. And she
had an early call to make. And the sea looked lovely.

"I'm glad to find you here, whatever be the cause," said Islington, with
his old directness. "To-day, as you know, is my last day in Greyport,
and it is much pleasanter to say good by under this blue sky than even
beneath your father's wonderful frescos yonder. I want to remember you,
too, as part of this pleasant prospect which belongs to us all, rather
than recall you in anybody's particular setting."

"I know," said Blanche, with equal directness, "that houses are one of
the defects of our civilization; but I don't think I ever heard the idea
as elegantly expressed before. Where do you go?"

"I don't know yet. I have several plans. I may go to South America and
become president of one of the republics,--I am not particular which. I
am rich, but in that part of America which lies outside of Greyport it
is necessary for every man to