S BERKELEY 
 .IBRARY 
 iNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 

 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE, 
 
A NE IV PORT 
 
 AQUARELLE. 
 
 THE CASINO, NEWPORT. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 1883. 
 
Copyright, 1883, 
 BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 (Tamfarttigr : 
 
 PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, 
 UNIVhKSITY PKESS. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " WHO is that tall girl with Mrs. Fallow- 
 Deer?" 
 
 " You have been in Newport twenty-four 
 hours and don t know ? Why, that is Gladys 
 Carleton. You ve heard of her, of course ? " 
 
 11 Can t say I have. A New York belle, I 
 suppose, from her get-up ? " 
 
 " Yes; her ambition is to be taken for an 
 English girl, though, of course, you detected 
 the spurious imitation of your countrywo 
 men. At what point does the Anglo veneer 
 fail to cover the American girl ? " 
 
 " I should n t say she was veneered at all, 
 but she s a typical New Yorker. I can t tell 
 you exactly where the difference lies, but I 
 
 099 
 
6 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 could pick you out a New York girl from a 
 crowd of specimen women from every town 
 in England and America. They have a way 
 of holding their elbows, and a certain half- 
 arrogant, half-flirtatious, entirely fetching 
 poise of the head, that beats all the other 
 women in creation." 
 
 " I being a New Yorker, thank you for the 
 compliment. Do you think Gladys Carleton 
 a beauty ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I should if you were not here ; I 
 can hardly tell. My eyes are rather dazzled. 
 If Miss Carleton is your friend, won t you 
 present me to her ? " 
 
 The lady addressed seemed not altogether 
 pleased at this request, but she answered, - 
 
 " Oh yes ; I will stop her when she passes 
 back this way. I cannot leave my seat, or I 
 shall never get another." 
 
 The speakers were seated in the long cres 
 cent-shaped corridor of the Newport Casino. 
 The hands of the quaint golden clock on the 
 tower of the outer courtyard pointed to the 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 7 
 
 hour of twelve. It was mid-day, and all the 
 fashionable world of Newport was gathered 
 within the aristocratic enclosure just named. 
 Some of the more energetic people were play 
 ing lawn tennis in the fine grounds of the 
 inner courtyard, which separates the semi 
 circle of the open corridor from the theatre 
 and racket court. Others were lunching 
 luxuriously in the well-appointed restaurant, 
 and a few of the more serious-minded butter 
 flies were sitting in the comfortable reading- 
 room, where ladies, as well as gentlemen, are 
 admitted to read the news, and write their 
 impressions of the place to their less fortu 
 nate friends and relatives, broiling in town or 
 rusticating in Maine. But the great crowd 
 of people were assembled in the open corri 
 dor, listening to the music of the band, which 
 at that moment was playing the exhilarat 
 ing strains of the " Merry War." Seated on 
 either side was a double row of people, who 
 laughed and chatted with each other, criticis 
 ing the less fortunate late-comers who had 
 
8 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 found no seats, these last having no other 
 resource than to walk up and down between 
 the two rows of well-dressed men and wo 
 men. The most popular of the ladies held 
 little courts of their own at different points 
 of the corridor, and were surrounded by 
 circles of men, of whom they spoke to their 
 husbands as friends, to their lady acquaint 
 ances as beaux. 
 
 The lady who had promised to stop. Miss 
 Carleton as she passed by, had succeeded in 
 securing for herself a seat close to the steps 
 which led down from the corridor to the ten 
 nis courts, a veritable coigne of vantage, 
 from whence every eligible man who passed 
 up or down the steps could be arrested by a 
 smile or a word. She had hurried her toilet 
 in order to be early on the ground and make 
 sure of the coveted spot. It was not to be 
 wondered at that she was not in haste to 
 surrender it, in order to oblige Mr. Cuthbert 
 Larkington by an introduction to Gladys 
 Carleton. She did not intend to surrender 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 9 
 
 cither her scat or her cavalier, for Larkington 
 was certainly the most stylish-looking man in 
 the whole Casino, and was, besides, sure to 
 become the lion of the season. He had ar 
 rived in Newport only the day before, bring 
 ing a letter to Mrs. Fallow- Deer. He had 
 been told that the only thing necessary to 
 open all doors in that exclusive society to 
 an Englishman was the patronage of this 
 distinguished lady. Mrs. Fallow-Deer had 
 a right to the high position she held in 
 Newport society. She was by birth a Van 
 Schuylkill, of New York, and belonged to 
 one of the old Dutch families, who had al 
 ways stood well in Manhattan, since the days 
 when their ancestor, Peter Van Schuylkill, 
 came out among the earliest settlers. In 
 her youth Miss Van Schuylkill had accom 
 panied her father to England, whither he had 
 been sent as American Minister, and while 
 there she had been sought in marriage by 
 Mr. Fallow-Deer, an English gentleman, of 
 large fortune. After thirty years of wedded 
 
10 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 life in the mother country, Mrs. Fallow-Deer 
 had returned to the home of her youth, a 
 widow, and a very rich woman. She had 
 soon made her house in New York one of 
 the most attractive in the city. A social 
 leader she was born to be, always had been, 
 and was likely to die in harness. She had 
 certain eccentricities, but was essentially con 
 ventional in thought and conversation ; she 
 had talked so much society talk that it was 
 impossible for her to doff her worldly man 
 ner and her social vernacular, which she 
 carried into her most intimate domestic 
 life. From her long residence in England, 
 she had come to be considered by the men 
 and women of her set as a sort of oracle of 
 les convenances. 
 
 On arriving, Mr. Larkington had called at 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer s to deposit his card, his 
 letter, and a bunch of flowers, which Fadden 
 the florist assured him was the finest bouquet 
 he had made up that season. The result of 
 his attention had been an invitation to din- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. II 
 
 ner that very evening, which he had accepted 
 with dignified effusion. He had taken his 
 Anglophilic hostess down to dinner, and lis 
 tened with respect and attention to her six- 
 month-stale stories of the sayings and doings 
 of H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, and the 
 worshipful members of his especial set. 
 Larkington had found a good deal of amuse 
 ment during the dinner in his right-hand 
 neighbor. She was a pretty woman of the 
 Venus de Medicis type, which is by no means 
 uncommon among American women. 
 
 Mrs. Craig was not beautiful, though he 
 had told her before the dessert that she was ; 
 but she was the perfection of prettiness. 
 Small, without being undersized, with charm 
 ing curves of face and figure, a well-shaped 
 face and head, blond hair, deep-gray eyes, 
 and a mouth which, though well cut, was too 
 narrow and bloodless to betoken a generous 
 or passionate nature. She had received the 
 Englishman s attentions w r ith cordiality and 
 friendliness, and had promised, as he escorted 
 
12 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 her to her carnage, to meet him at the Casino 
 the next morning at twelve o clock. 
 
 Mrs. Craig had found Larkington await 
 ing her at the entrance of the Casino, and, 
 after one anxious glance, had become reas 
 sured, and laughed at her own fears lest he 
 should not be " presentable by daylight." 
 
 " In the evening," Mrs. Crai^ had aimied 
 
 O O O 
 
 to herself, " any man can look swell ; but it 
 is the morning dress which really shows 
 his social status and the club to which he 
 belongs." 
 
 Mrs. Craig had not exaggerated the effect 
 which her entrance with the distinguished- 
 looking " new arrival " would make on the 
 crowd of people at the Casino, already tired 
 of each other s faces, though the season was 
 but three weeks old. The women all stopped 
 talking as she passed, and the men looked 
 curiously at " the new Englishman Mrs. 
 Craig had in tow." If the lady s manner 
 had on the previous evening been cordial 
 to Mr. Larkington, it might now have been 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 13 
 
 called familiar; for, conscious that the eyes 
 of all her friends and enemies were centred 
 upon her, she assumed that air of condescend 
 ing possession which women of her nature 
 show to the men with whom their names 
 are more or less connected. During the 
 
 C.5 
 
 first half-hour things had gone very well, 
 and she had remained in undisturbed pos 
 session of the new man, who was greater 
 triumph an Englishman. She had intro 
 duced him to her husband, who came " clum- 
 bering" along, to use one of her coinages 
 of language, to Mr. Belhomme, the Master of 
 the Hounds, to the respected President of 
 the Casino, and to the ruling spirit of the 
 Redwood Club. 
 
 These gentlemen had all received Larking- 
 ton with cordiality and consideration, and 
 Mrs. Craig had the ineffable joy of stealing 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer s thunder, and playing pa 
 troness to the good-looking foreigner. But 
 her triumph was short-lived ; and when Mrs. 
 Fal low-Deer appeared upon the scene, bear- 
 
14 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 ing down with full sail to a spot where chairs 
 were quickly placed for her and her com 
 panion, Gladys Carleton, the eyes of the prize 
 roamed anxiously in their direction. 
 
 Mrs. Craig was on her mettle: the equivo 
 cal expression with which she looked full into 
 the eyes of Larkington was one which she 
 rarely allowed herself to use in society ; and 
 the laughter which babbled from her lips 
 was silver-sweet in tone, but when she spoke 
 her voice was sharpened by anxiety. 
 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer, having seated her ample 
 person, and spread out her gorgeous raiment, 
 soon espied the group of which Mrs. Craig 
 was the centre, and, having attracted Larking- 
 ton s attention, gave him a superb, rocking- 
 horse bow, fall of consideration and sweet 
 ness. The true state of affairs at once 
 became evident to her, and, turning to the 
 bearer of her fan, a young aspirant to fashion, 
 she said, " Won t you kindly ask Mrs. Craig 
 if she can tell me the hour of the rendezvous 
 for the picnic to-morrow?" 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 15 
 
 The move was a successful one. Mrs. 
 Craig, turning to speak to the young myr 
 midon, Larkington was left untrammelled 
 by her wooing glance, and with a hurried 
 u Excuse me for one moment," he crossed 
 the corridor and entered the enemy s lines. 
 
 " So glad to see you here, Mr. Larkington ; 
 is it not a pretty scene ? But of course, after 
 Co\ves, it seems very small to you. Still, I 
 think it is not quite unlike the grounds of 
 the Royal Yacht Squadron ; how does it 
 strike you ? " 
 
 " I think that the Club garden never had 
 such a compliment before, Mrs. Fallow-Deer; 
 we have nothing in England that compares 
 with Newport. It is really a sort of modern 
 Pompeii, where all the rich Americans come 
 to play at taking a rest." 
 
 " It is very good-natured of you to say such 
 nice things, I am sure. I want to present 
 you to Miss Carleton, who is my guest. 
 Gladys, let me present the Hon. Mr. Cuth- 
 bert Larkington, of Oxfordshire." 
 
16 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 The two young people bowed, the man 
 lifting his hat and making a deep obeisance, 
 the girl moving her graceful head perhaps a 
 quarter of an inch, and looking with an air 
 of composed observance into the face of the 
 dark, striking-looking stranger. Whether he 
 chose to admit it to Mrs. Craig or not, Lark- 
 ington was much impressed with the beauty 
 of Gladys Carleton. He instinctively com 
 pared her to the Arab mare which had borne 
 him many miles over the deserts of Syria, 
 and which he had cared for rather more than 
 for any other living creature. 
 
 She was tall, straight as an arrow, and 
 slender, long-limbed, with a small, round 
 waist, wide shoulders, and full, classic bust, 
 carefully displayed by the close-fitting dress 
 of dark-blue foulard, fastened at the throat 
 with a pair of deep sapphire buttons. Her 
 head was magnificently set on her shoulders, 
 and its poise was, to quote the phrase Lark- 
 ington had used, " half arrogant and wholly 
 fetching." The head itself was small, and, 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. I/ 
 
 if not intellectual, intelligent in shape. Her 
 fine black hair was brushed simply back from 
 her temples, she could afford to show her 
 brow. Her eyes were dark and full of fire ; 
 the thick line of the eyebrows not classic, but 
 effective. The straight, sensitive nose, with 
 its red nostrils, showed what her friends 
 called her "high spirit;" her maid vulgarly 
 referred to it as a mark of her " ugly tem 
 per." Her mouth was full and red, curved 
 and dainty, a beauty rarely found among 
 the women of her race. Her tiny roseleaf ears 
 had never been desecrated by the needle of 
 the jeweller, and the faultless teeth showed 
 no trace of a dentist s care. A singularly 
 striking-looking woman, whose age might be 
 anywhere from eighteen to twenty-eight, and 
 was exactly a quarter of a century. 
 
 When Larkington looked at the smooth 
 fleckless skin, he thought that she could not 
 have passed her teens. Her assured and self- 
 reliant bearing contradicted this supposition, 
 and betokened much experience of the world. 
 
1 8 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " I was so sorry to miss you at dinner last 
 evening, I was dining at Mrs. Belhomme s. 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer told me how you amused 
 them all, and has promised to ask you again 
 very soon for my special benefit. Do you 
 think you will like Newport ? " 
 
 " I know I shall ; in fact, I do. I am al 
 most at home here already." 
 
 " You will feel yourself quite at home this 
 afternoon, I fancy, for it is the first hunt 
 of the season. Of course you are going ? " 
 
 " If you are, Miss Carleton, I am, of 
 course. But what sort of a hunt is it, 
 a butterfly hunt ? Considering the season, 
 I suppose the game must have golden 
 wings." 
 
 " Butterflies ? Oh no ! we are not canni 
 bals at Newport, and do not kill our kind. 
 The hunt is a real hunt as far as the prey is 
 concerned. The only sham part of it is the 
 scent, which is that of a red herring dragged 
 across the fields by a huntsman on the 
 morning of the meet." 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 19 
 
 " So the route is all laid out ? and how 
 does the fox it is a fox ? well, how does 
 he understand that he must follow the scent 
 of the herring ? Does your system of com 
 pulsory education extend to the members of 
 the animal kingdom ? " 
 
 u Do not be satirical, Mr. Larkington. Of 
 course, the whole thing sounds very absurd 
 to you ; but as we have no foxes in this 
 neighborhood, we import the poor little 
 beasts. The fox is conveyed in a leathern 
 bag to a certain spot agreed upon, and when 
 we have all begun to think that herring 
 scent is a poor sort of game, out springs 
 Mr. Reynard a field beyond, and we all take 
 heart, hounds, horses, and riders, and 
 plunge after him with renewed ardor. If the 
 fox part of it is a sham, I can say more for 
 the riding. Newport is the roughest country 
 I have ever hunted in. Have you your horse 
 with you ? " 
 
 "Yes, I bought a couple of hunters in 
 New York ; they arrived yesterday, and I 
 
20 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 shall most certainly join the hunt this after 
 noon. Do the men wear the pink ? " 
 
 " Yes ; most of them. It makes the spec 
 tacle so much gayer, and the pink coats set 
 off the dark habits very prettily. They are 
 not always becoming, but then one ought to 
 be willing to sacrifice one s self to the gen 
 eral picturesqueness of the landscape." 
 
 Catching the last part of this sentence, 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer, who had been occupied in 
 scanning with half-closed eyes the groups 
 of people scattered about the lawn, broke 
 into the conversation. 
 
 " Yes, it is a picturesque scene, is it not ? 
 But I want to present you, Mr. Larkington, 
 to one of its most picturesque objects, Mrs. 
 Belhomme. I am going to take you to a 
 reception at her house this evening. I 11 be 
 back again, Gladys ; keep my seat for me." 
 
 And the great woman sailed away on the 
 arm of her new protege. Poor little Mrs. 
 Craig grew pale as the couple swept past 
 her. Her only cavalier for the moment hap- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 21 
 
 pened to be Mr. Craig, her devoted and long- 
 suffering husband ; and this fact added gall 
 to the wormwood of her defeat. She was 
 somewhat soothed, however, by the approach 
 of Count Clawski, a foreign diplomate with 
 a high official position. This gentleman, af 
 ter the formalities of the morning greeting, 
 inquired of Mrs. Craig the name and station 
 of the tall Englishman, who was the subject 
 of general conversation that morning. Mrs. 
 Craig assured him that she was in no way 
 responsible for the gentleman, whom she had 
 met at dinner the evening before at Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer s, and whom she had accidentally 
 encountered at the entrance of the Casino. 
 Count Clawski had lived in England, and 
 knew of an aristocratic family of the name 
 of Larkington. 
 
 Mrs. Craig now being quite ready to leave 
 the Casino, the Count escorted her to her 
 carriage, and made his most respectful obei 
 sance to the pretty woman, who nodded a 
 flirtatious farewell, and, saying to her footman, 
 
22 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " Go to the Redwood Library," was rolled 
 away in her luxurious Victoria to that vener 
 able and stately edifice. 
 
 Entering the quaint old library, Mrs. Craig 
 asked the custodian for a book, which was 
 quickly brought her, and, seating herself at 
 a table, the pretty woman soon became ab 
 sorbed in the perusal of that volume which 
 in importance ranks with the book of Com 
 mon Prayer in all English households. Does 
 not the British Peerage contain between its 
 covers the Alpha and Omega of every true 
 Briton s social creed, which should profess a 
 belief in the Queen and Empress of all the 
 important parts of the earth ; a belief in the 
 House of Lords, the aristocracy and all their 
 friends ; a faith and reverence for all the 
 decrees of H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, and 
 his set ? 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IT was a perfect Newport afternoon. The 
 sun, which had shone brightly all the morn 
 ing, had drawn a veil of soft gray clouds 
 before his face, and a cool west wind blew 
 refreshingly over the road, whose dust had 
 been laid by a shower during the night. 
 
 The West Road, which leads from the 
 town of Newport out into the quiet country, 
 was dotted here and there with groups of 
 riders, and with carnages of all degrees, from 
 trotting-wagons to four-in-hand coaches. 
 
 All the vehicles were wending their way 
 to Southwick s Grove, the spot appointed for 
 that afternoon s meet. 
 
 It was early as yet, only half-past four 
 o clock, and the road was not crowded by 
 the hurrying late-comers. 
 
24 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 There were a few among the riders and 
 drivers who could appreciate the views which 
 are to be had from different points on the 
 road. 
 
 At the bend which marks the boundary 
 between the townships of Newport and Mid- 
 dletown, two riders had drawn rein, and 
 were looking out over the stretches of warm- 
 hued meadow-land which lie between the 
 high-road and the waters of the bay. 
 
 The bold outline of the hill on the right, 
 and the group of dark green trees on the left 
 of the riders, made a frame for the great life- 
 picture of sea, sky, and meadow, at which 
 they looked half understandingly. 
 
 The high rocky island of Conanicut, with 
 the ruined fort of the Dumplings on its 
 summit, lay before them, outlined against 
 pearly gray clouds, the sea of a deeper gray 
 washing softly about its base. A swift- 
 winged boat, with a flock of white sea-gulls 
 wheeling about its bow, came skimming 
 across the picture, and added the charm of 
 motion to the scene. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 25 
 
 A little puff of smoke floated low down 
 beneath the clouds, and as they looked the 
 white prow of a steamer parted the gray 
 waves, and swiftly crossed the line of their 
 vision. A sudden scream of a steam whistle 
 fell upon the quiet air, and the spell was 
 broken, the charm of the picture was gone. 
 
 Slowly, regretfully, the eyes of the young 
 woman in the trig blue habit turned from 
 the far-off peaceful scene, broken by the pro 
 saic sight and sound of the steamer, and, 
 following the long lines of brown and green 
 meadow-land, dwelt a moment on the group 
 of men and boys at work near by, and then 
 looked into the face of her companion. 
 
 " Is it not beautiful, Cid ? and to think 
 that I have ridden past this spot twenty 
 times this summer, and never noticed the 
 view ! You are never too busy to miss one 
 glimpse of the beauty which you say the 
 world is full of, and / have to be told that 
 what I see is lovely before my dulness can 
 understand it. All the lovely things I have 
 seen in my life, you have shown me." 
 
26 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 The eyes of the speaker, Gladys Carleton, 
 were so soft at that moment that the man 
 by her side wondered if the hard, bold look, 
 which was their dominant expression, was 
 not one acquired by habit and external influ 
 ences, and this wistful, half-tender expression 
 their natural one. He had often before asked 
 himself this question, and had always an 
 swered it sadly in the negative. And yet 
 the query came again to his mind on that 
 fair summer afternoon, and was not to be 
 dismissed so easily as it had been. 
 
 Charles Farwell, called by Gladys Carleton 
 " Cid," was a handsome man of thirty, with 
 certain traits which distinguished him from 
 the hundred or two young New Yorkers who 
 were at that time infesting Newport. 
 
 He was of the pure Saxon type some 
 times found among our people, with golden 
 hair and beard, fair skin, and eyes of that 
 intense blue which is only seen with people 
 of vigorous temperament. His features were 
 almost too delicate for a man, but his six 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 27 
 
 feet of height and broad shoulders, his strong 
 well-modelled arms and legs, saved him from 
 the charge of a too feminine beauty. 
 
 His expression was open and simple, and 
 his bearing frank and natural. There was 
 a tendency to dreaminess in the face, con 
 cerning whose beauty he honestly neither 
 thought nor cared. His cousin Gladys had 
 told him that a beautiful woman who was 
 not vain was a rara avis indeed, but that a 
 handsome man without vanity was a crea 
 ture too unnatural, too absolutely sui generis, 
 to be popular among men or women. 
 
 Charles Farwell and Gladys Carleton were 
 of a convenient kinship, being second cous 
 ins. A second cousin may always be that 
 dimly anticipated "Fate" which haunts the 
 minds of all young people, and there is an 
 easy familiarity in the relation, which may 
 remain but a pleasant feature in their lives, 
 and yet can easily deepen into a controlling 
 association. 
 
 These two young people had lived as 
 
28 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 children on opposite sides of the then fash 
 ionable quarter of Gramercy Park, and had 
 played together in the dusty city garden 
 through the long days when from Sunday 
 to Sunday seemed half a lifetime. They 
 had fallen in love of course, and when 
 Gladys was seventeen and Farwell twenty- 
 two, there had been an " understanding " 
 between them. This was one of those 
 " understandings " into which American girls 
 are apt to enter, sometimes with more than 
 one man at a time, in which the maiden 
 is left quite free, and the man is bound 
 unconditionally. 
 
 Gladys did not know her own mind, 
 how could she, not having seen anything 
 of the world ? She thought she loved her 
 cousin, and was sure she cared more for 
 him than for any other man, but she could 
 not promise. 
 
 Well, he would wait (they always do) ; 
 and after waiting for three years, during 
 which time he had the doubtful happiness 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 29 
 
 of corresponding with his lovely cousin, of 
 sending her flowers, and of seeing her dance 
 at balls with other men, his roses held 
 against her cheek and their shoulders, 
 after all this he still held only the position 
 of her acknowledged admirer, among many 
 others. 
 
 She would drive with him in the park, 
 if she were not engaged to drive with any 
 one else ; when she had an off evening, she 
 telegraphed for him to take herself and her 
 sister to the play. 
 
 In the early summer he was privileged 
 to spend a long month with her at the old 
 homestead in Rhode Island, where an old 
 relative, the Rev. Abel Carleton, lived. 
 
 In this quiet spot Gladys recruited her 
 strength for the Newport season. 
 
 Farwell was looked upon in the family as 
 the hopeless adorer of his cousin. Neither 
 her worldly mother nor her sisters doubted for 
 a moment that Gladys would make a great 
 match ; but meanwhile Cousin Charlie was a 
 
30 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 dear good fellow, generous with his three 
 thousand a year, honorable, and so chival 
 rous that Gladys had given him the nick- 
 name of Cid in the days in which he had read 
 to her the wonderful stories of the prowess 
 of the fabled hero. Cid he had always been 
 called by the Carletons, who all really loved 
 him, when they had time to think about it, 
 and he stood to them somewhat in the rela 
 tion of the " property man " in the company 
 of a theatre, the person to be called on at all 
 times, for all necessities. 
 
 At first Farwell had been sure of Gladys ; 
 after she had seen something of society and 
 had " had her fling," she would give it all up, 
 marry him, and settle down somewhere out 
 of town, where they could live very comfort 
 ably on their joint income (that of Gladys 
 sufficed for her wardrobe), and lead the happy, 
 quiet domestic life for which he fancied they 
 were both suited. 
 
 But as time wore on, and Gladys grew 
 colder and harder, and more thoroughly a 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 31 
 
 woman of the world, hope grew faint, and 
 finally on her twentieth birthday they had 
 taken a long walk together, and had talked 
 the matter out The understanding was 
 now altered, and Farwell realized that Gladys 
 was in earnest when she told him that "for 
 two such beggars, with nothing a year, to 
 speak about marriage would be sheer lunacy." 
 
 He had taken the disappointment very 
 hard, and was thankful when the Carletons 
 soon after decided to make a trip to Europe. 
 It was easier to forget it all with her far 
 away from him. 
 
 Gladys had been " a great success " in 
 England, in Paris, in Rome, wherever she 
 went. She had been twice engaged, and had 
 just missed becoming " my lady" by the in- 
 triguings of a sister of the young Earl who 
 had fallen in love with her. The other 
 lover whom she had accepted and finally 
 discarded was a German banker of enor 
 mous wealth and high standing. Neverthe 
 less, when the time appointed for the mar- 
 
32 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 riage drew near, Gladys had been seized 
 with a horror of her plighted lover, and 
 taking her maid with her had fled from 
 Berlin to London, leaving her mother to 
 settle the difficulty, while she amused the 
 London friend to whose house she had been 
 welcomed on her arrival, with mimicry of 
 ponderous Herr Goldzchink s ponderous 
 wooings. 
 
 The story of her escapade was soon 
 known, and she became the belle of the 
 London season, dined at Marlboro House, 
 and afterwards received more invitations than 
 would have sufficed three American belles. 
 
 Six months before the opening of our 
 story, Mrs. Carleton, somewhat discouraged, 
 be it said, by her want of success in the 
 matrimonial market, had found it necessary 
 to return to America and attend to some 
 urgent business matters. 
 
 Gladys had become in these six months 
 quite at home again in the country which 
 she had not seen in as many years, and after 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 33 
 
 a winter in New York had passed a month 
 at the old homestead as in other days. Hav 
 ing accepted Mrs. Fallow-Deer s invitation 
 to pass the month of August with her at 
 Newport, she was enjoying for the first time 
 in several years the brilliant entertainments of 
 our summer city. She found that things had 
 changed much during her absence, and felt, as 
 she had never done before, the great difficulty 
 which people with moderate means find in 
 maintaining their place in a society which 
 has become vulgarized by the vast quantities 
 of wealth brought into it by uncultivated 
 people. 
 
 The tone of the society seemed also to 
 have become in a certain sense European- 
 ized, and she did not find the great contrast 
 she had expected ; Newport manners and 
 customs, unlike those of the Medes and 
 Persians, having changed considerably. 
 
 " I find people here much broader than I 
 remember them to have been," Gladys had 
 said to her cousin. 
 
 3 
 
34 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " Yes," Cid had rather grimly replied ; 
 "you will find people here just as broad 
 as you will allow them to be," - - for which 
 remark he had been promptly and prop 
 erly snubbed. 
 
 As the two young people gave their horses 
 the rein, a carriage rolled by them, in which 
 were seated Mrs. Craia^ and Mrs. Fallow- 
 
 o 
 
 Deer ; the latter called out to Gladys, 
 
 " You are late, dear! You must trot along 
 very fast, or they will be off without you." 
 
 An excellent horsewoman was Gladys 
 Carleton, and she never appeared to more 
 advantage than when in the saddle. At 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer s warning, she touched 
 her tall sorrel lightly with her crop, and 
 the two young people rode off at a sharp 
 pace. Arriving at the rendezvous, they 
 found a large group of riders, twenty or 
 thirty men, and half as many women, all 
 well mounted and well got up. 
 
 Some of the gentlemen wore pink coats, 
 others were in plain riding-dress. The 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 35 
 
 huntsmen were busy with the hounds, a 
 fine pack imported from Buckinghamshire, 
 and the hunters were talking and laughing 
 together, walking their horses about, or 
 tightening their girths for the long run. 
 
 In the large open space of the grove hun 
 dreds of carriages, filled with spectators, were 
 assembled, and more were arriving every mo 
 ment. The horns of the coaches sounded 
 merrily in the distance, and presently a drag, 
 driven by a wounded polo-player, his crutches 
 conspicuously displayed beside him, rolled 
 into the grove. 
 
 On this coach the quick eyes of Gladys 
 Carleton espied her English acquaintance 
 of the morning, the Hon. Cuthbert Lark- 
 ington. 
 
 Mr. Larkington s horse, having been led 
 out by a groom, was awaiting him. He 
 sprang into the saddle and joined the group 
 of riders, making his way to the side of 
 Gladys, by whom he was half-graciously 
 received. 
 
36 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 She never was quite gracious to any one. 
 An introduction to Farwell followed, and as 
 the two gentlemen bowed, the horns of the 
 huntsmen warned them that the run was 
 about to begin. 
 
 Off went the hounds across the road, 
 scrambling over the loose stone-wall which 
 divided it from the field. 
 
 They ran sniffing and crying at the her 
 ring scent, as if they knew all about the im 
 posture practised on them, and resented it. 
 
 After them followed the riders, men and 
 women. The wall was not a very high one, 
 and the horses leaped lightly over it, no one 
 coming to grief. 
 
 The carriages by this time were all tearing 
 down the high-road, which was also lined 
 with a number of riders, who followed the 
 hunt from this safe vantage-ground, endan 
 gering nothing but their eyesight, which the 
 cloud of dust threatened, and enjoying the 
 hunt quite as much as its followers, so 
 they affirmed. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 37 
 
 Gladys was among the foremost riders, 
 and Farwell and Larkington pressed their 
 horses to keep at her side. 
 
 Away they galloped across stubble-fields 
 and open meadows, taking a five-barred gate 
 here, and a water jump there, as they came. 
 No side roads or opened gates for Gladys ; 
 she loved the excitement of the run as much 
 as did her sorrel, Nimbus. 
 
 He was a splendid beast, strong, power 
 fully built, and in fine condition. 
 
 Before they had ridden three miles it 
 became apparent to both of the cavaliers 
 that Gladys had the best mount, and it was 
 with difficulty that the two men kept at 
 her side. 
 
 She spoke to Larkington occasionally, 
 but oftener to her horse, which she encour 
 aged by calling his name constantly. At 
 last, after a run of about seven miles, during 
 which several ugly croppers were taken by 
 some of the riders and horses, a little puppy 
 fox was seen to issue from the leathern bag 
 
38 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 in which he had been confined, a field ahead 
 of the hunting party. 
 
 The hounds leaped forward at a quicker 
 pace, crying at the sight of their prey, and 
 the men and women spurred their horses 
 on for the last field. 
 
 Excited exclamations escaped from the 
 men as they lashed their tired steeds, and 
 a cry of " Go on, Nimbus ! " fell on Farwell s 
 ear. It had come from the lips of Gladys ; 
 and as he looked at her, he wondered where 
 the tender expression could have vanished 
 which had stirred his heart an hour ago. 
 
 She was flushed, and her eyes sparkled 
 with excitement. She struck her horse and 
 urged him over the last wall as a jockey 
 might have done, and with the cry which 
 he had heard, and which had no sound of 
 her natural voice in it, she swept across 
 the field even with the huntsmen, and lead 
 ing the whole cavalcade. 
 
 And the fox? well, he was only a stupid 
 little creature after all, and, quite dazed by 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 39 
 
 the sudden light, by the cries of the hounds, 
 and the approach of all these men, women, 
 and horses, he did nothing but jump up 
 on the stone wall and look wonderingly at 
 the superior animals who had come so far 
 to find him. 
 
 When the pack were close upon him he 
 realized what it all meant, that it was to 
 take his miserable little life that all these 
 great creatures brave men and delicate 
 women, hounds and horses had come out 
 on this bright summer afternoon. 
 
 He realized it, but too late even to try 
 for an escape. He looked about him over 
 a strange open country with fields on either 
 side, and, seeing how hopeless it was, stood 
 quite still, looking at the animals, guided by 
 their king, man, who were now close upon 
 him. 
 
 One great cry he gave as he felt the 
 teeth of the foremost hound fasten on his 
 throat, and then all was over, and in a 
 space of time something less than sixty 
 
40 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 seconds, the Master of the Hunt approached 
 Miss Carleton with the brush of the fox, 
 which she hung at the pommel of her 
 saddle. 
 
 As they all rode home together through 
 the quiet country lanes, little children ran 
 to the doors of the farm-houses and looked 
 admiringly at the cavalcade. 
 
 The feathered creatures, just preparing to 
 go to rest in the arms of the great trees, 
 flapped their wings angrily at the dust and 
 disturbance created on the highway, which 
 after six o clock was deserted save on the 
 days of the hunt. 
 
 An apple orchard on the right side of 
 the road lay between the riders and the 
 setting sun. 
 
 The light falling in low, slanting rays 
 between the shadows of the wonderful old 
 gnarled trees, gray and twisted, gave a color 
 to the grass which is found nowhere in 
 the world save in the island of Rhode 
 Island, a color as of a million emeralds 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 41 
 
 softened and deepened by the yellow light 
 of the setting sun. 
 
 "If I were obliged to say what was the 
 most beautiful thing in all Newport, I 
 should say the turf of this orchard, in the 
 afternoon." 
 
 Gladys was the speaker. 
 
 " And you say that you never see any 
 thing that is beautiful," Farwell remarked. 
 
 " I should n t have seen it if I had not 
 been with you, Cid." 
 
 As they rode down Bellevue Avenue to 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer s house, which was situated 
 on the cliffs, Larkington made himself very 
 agreeable to Farwell, who received the ad 
 vances of the Englishman cordially. 
 
 The two gentlemen then took leave of 
 Miss Carleton, Farwell lifting her from her 
 horse in a matter-of-course manner. 
 
 At the moment in which her palm lay 
 upon his shoulder, and his hands spanned 
 her slender waist, she gave a little tired sigh, 
 almost like a child s. She smiled with her 
 
42 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 eyes as well as her lips in that brief instant 
 when her face was so near to his, and though 
 she gave her hand to Larkington at parting, 
 and only nodded him a good-night, Cid rode 
 away with his heart beating fast, his whole 
 being quickened by the influence of that 
 tired sigh, that deep smile. 
 
 Farwell felt so much at peace with the 
 world in general, and in especial with the 
 man who had not lifted Gladys from her 
 horse, that in a moment of expansiveness 
 he asked Larkington to dine with him at 
 the restaurant of the Casino. 
 
 The invitation was accepted, and the two 
 men passed the evening together, playing 
 a game of billiards after dinner. 
 
 Farwell was rightly counted by the men 
 of his club as an excellent player, but he 
 found that in Larkington he had met more 
 than his match. Though Larkington had 
 taken twice as much wine as he had at 
 dinner, his strokes seemed as steady as 
 those of a professional billiard-player. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 43 
 
 The stranger s game was so remarkable 
 that quite a group of men collected round 
 the table to watch it. After a few games in 
 which he was rather badly beaten, Farwell 
 remembered an engagement, and excusing 
 himself left his new friend the centre of an 
 admiring group, and walked off to his lodg 
 ings over the baker s shop in John Street. 
 
 They were comfortable rooms enough, 
 the little bedroom and parlor which he had 
 hired for the months of August and Septem 
 ber, and he threw himself into the black 
 horsehair rocking-chair, which his landlady 
 had lent him from her own sitting-room, 
 and lighting his pipe divested himself of his 
 coat and boots, a thing which every true- 
 born American does immediately on entering 
 the privacy of his own apartment. 
 
 Something besides the smile of Gladys had 
 occurred to please Charles Farwell. Loving 
 her as he had all his life, and understanding 
 her as thoroughly as he did, her kindness and 
 her unkindness usually depressed him equally, 
 
44 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 when the charm of her presence was re 
 moved. 
 
 If she was, as she had been that day, 
 almost tender to him, the old conviction, 
 always latent in his mind, that she really 
 loved him, would assert itself, and the feel 
 ing that if he chose to exert his will, he could 
 induce her to marry him, would grow into a 
 certainty. 
 
 But with this certainty came also the re 
 membrance of the great, insuperable objec 
 tion to such a step, that of his limited 
 income, which to her meant poverty. 
 
 He knew that to her luxurious nature 
 any enforced economy would be irksome, 
 perhaps intolerable, and feared lest it might 
 imbitter her character, whose selfish impulses 
 he knew so well. 
 
 He would not now, with his knowledge of 
 the world and its men and women, beg her 
 to renounce it all, for love and for him. 
 
 That he himself was generous to a fault, 
 giving away his money whenever he had any 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 45 
 
 to give, and working year in and year out in 
 a broker s office in Wall Street in order that 
 his sisters might have his share of the in 
 come from his father s estate, made him 
 none the less aware of the selfish side of 
 Gladys s nature. 
 
 He could make her marry him, of that 
 he was sure now, but could he make her 
 happy? As if to answer the self-asked ques 
 tion he drew from his pocket a crumpled bit 
 of paper, and read for the third time a de 
 spatch which he had that afternoon received, 
 and which ran as follows : 
 
 LEADVILLE, Aug. 19, 1882. 
 To CHARLES FARWELL, 
 
 Redwood Reading Room, 
 Newport, R.I. 
 
 New lead discovered ; assay yields 20 per cent 
 of silver. Come at once. 
 
 CARTWRIGHT. 
 
46 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ON the morning following the fox-hunt, 
 Mr. Larkington, inquiring at the post-office 
 for letters, was somewhat surprised at the 
 large bundle of notes which the clerk put into 
 his hand. 
 
 He glanced hurriedly over the addresses : 
 there was one foreign letter, with an English 
 postmark, directed in a pointed feminine 
 hand. 
 
 This letter he impatiently tore open, un 
 folding it without glancing at the writing, 
 and looked between the closely written pages 
 of the sheet. 
 
 Here he found a narrow slip of paper, 
 which the lady clerk observed afterwards to 
 the postmaster " was a check, as any one 
 could see." 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 47 
 
 Whether this lady was right in her hy 
 pothesis or not, the perusal of the narrow 
 bit of paper seemed to have an agreeable 
 effect upon Mr. Larkington. His face, which 
 until then had been rather moody, cleared, 
 and, folding the paper, he placed it carefully 
 in his pocket-book, thrust the unread letter 
 which had been so carefully written, into 
 his pocket, and proceeded to open leisurely 
 the other notes. 
 
 All of these bore the local postmark. 
 
 The first one was marked by an elaborate 
 crest, in blue and gold, and read as follows : 
 " Mrs. Craig requests the pleasure of Mr. 
 Larkington s company at dinner on Monday 
 evening next, at half-past seven." 
 
 Another informed him that " Mrs. Fallow- 
 Deer hopes that Mr. Larkington will drive 
 with her on Saturday afternoon." 
 
 A third read : " Mr. Belhomme will be 
 very glad to lend Mr. Larkington his coach 
 and horses on Friday and Saturday of this 
 week, during his absence in New York." 
 
48 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 There were half a dozen other invitations 
 to balls and routs of various kinds, and, most 
 important of all to the mind of the English 
 man, invitations for a month to the Redwood 
 and Casino Clubs. To the first of these, 
 incorrectly called the " Reading Room," 
 Larkington immediately repaired. 
 
 Here he was warmly greeted by the men 
 whose acquaintance he had made on the pre 
 vious day and evening. These gentlemen 
 introduced him to others. 
 
 Cuthbert Larkington had come to New 
 port, forty-eight hours before, a stranger, with 
 no further claim on society than that implied 
 by a single letter of introduction. 
 
 This letter, which was addressed to Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer, had been given him by a 
 steamer acquaintance, to whom he had lent 
 twenty-five pounds. He now felt that he 
 had gained a footing from which he could 
 climb to the heights of success and popu 
 larity. 
 
 As he was leaving the Club, Larkington 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 49 
 
 met Count Clawski, and the two walked down 
 Bellevue Avenue together. 
 
 A carriage, drawn by a pair of magnificent 
 bay horses, rattled past them, the harnesses 
 jingling with enough chains to secure all the 
 prisoners in Newport jail. 
 
 Two ladies bowed from the back seat of 
 the carnage, and Larkington, recognizing the 
 face of the girl whose acquaintance he had 
 made the day before, made a deep obeisance ; 
 Count Clawski, who seemed on good terms 
 with the ladies, waved his hat with airy grace. 
 
 " You have the good fortune to know Miss 
 Carleton, the heiress ? " asked the Count. 
 
 " Yes ; I met her yesterday. Is she one of 
 the very rich people here?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; her fortune is counted in mil 
 lions, half a dozen, I believe, and it is all 
 in her own right. An interesting woman, 
 very. Her cousin is very pretty, is she 
 not?" 
 
 " I did not notice the cousin," answered 
 Larkington, absently. "Is she an orphan, 
 
 4 
 
50 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Miss Carleton, that she is so rich ? 
 From whom did she get all her money? " 
 
 " Oh, old Mr. Carleton was an enormously 
 rich man, and she is his only child. She is 
 an excellent woman of business, and man 
 ages her own affairs entirely. She has a 
 mother; but Mrs. Carleton is not here this 
 summer. She is an old lady, and finds New 
 port too exciting for her taste." 
 
 This is what was said on the sidewalk. 
 
 The lady in the carriage who was the sub 
 ject of this conversation said to her com 
 panion, 
 
 " Do you know who that man with Count 
 Clawski is, Gladys ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, Cousin Amelia ; I can tell you 
 all about him. His name is Larkington, 
 the Hon. Cuthbert Larkington. He is an 
 Englishman, of high family. Mrs. Craig was 
 telling us all about him this morning. She 
 had been looking him up in the Peerage. 
 He is the son of Lord Lucre, and is in the 
 Army. I met him yesterday, and found him 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 51 
 
 quite agreeable. You ought to have him 
 presented, and ask him to dinner." 
 
 " I should be glad to know him, but I am 
 off for Lenox to-morrow. Would n t you 
 like to have Thomas come for you while I 
 am away? You can have the carriage every 
 afternoon, just as well as not. Mrs. Fallow- 
 Deer, with her numerous engagements, must 
 have constant use for hers." 
 
 Miss Amelia Carleton was the cousin of 
 Gladys, and Count Clawski had not exagger 
 ated her fortune to Larkington. 
 
 She was a rather hard-favored iron-bound 
 virgin of some forty odd years, well preserved 
 and not the reverse of handsome in face or 
 figure. She had remained Miss Carleton 
 from choice, preferring the freedom of single 
 life and enjoying the power which her money 
 gave her. She could have married " any 
 body she pleased," as the phrase goes, but 
 she did not please, and said she did not care 
 to support any man for the pleasure of writ 
 ing Mrs. before her name. 
 
52 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " There was, of course, some old romance," 
 her friends all said, but who the hero of it 
 was, even rumor whispered not. 
 
 It is quite possible that neither hero nor 
 romance had ever entered her life. 
 
 She belonged to that type of women, not 
 uncommon in New England, who do not feel 
 the necessity of domestic relations for their 
 happiness, and to whom men are rather an 
 tagonistic than attractive. 
 
 These women are often among the hardest 
 workers in the social community, and are un 
 remitting in their charitable labors. They 
 are dubbed " strong-minded," a title which 
 they resent almost universally, and yet it is 
 one they fully deserve. 
 
 It seems as though a wise provision of 
 Providence had created a certain proportion 
 of the women of the Eastern States with 
 this independence of nature, to fit them for 
 the life of moral and physical self-support 
 imposed upon them by the disproportion 
 ately small number of men in these regions. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 53 
 
 On reaching his hotel, Larkington walked 
 slowly up the long stairs which led to the 
 third floor, upon which his room was sit 
 uated. 
 
 He seemed deeply absorbed in thought, 
 and stood before the window, looking with 
 unseeing eyes into the blue sky. Yet the 
 tenor of his thoughts was of a nature more 
 terrestrial than celestial, as the anxious ex 
 pression of the eyes and lips betokened. 
 
 " Shall I, or shall I not, go in for the 
 heiress ? " was the question he asked himself, 
 as he paced slowly up and down the narrow 
 coffin-like apartment, with its iron bedstead, 
 chair, table, and wash-stand, for the use of 
 which he would be obliged to pay five dol 
 lars a day, when he should settle his bill. 
 When he should settle his bill ! The thought 
 reminded him of his unread letter, and seat 
 ing himself at the table he soon became ab 
 sorbed in the perusal of the finely crossed 
 epistle. 
 
 After reading it through, he sat silent 
 
54 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 for another space, staring out into the bright 
 sunlight of the summer morning, and then 
 quite suddenly drew toward him the pen 
 and ink and paper, and rapidly indited the 
 following note : 
 
 DEAREST Muz, Thank you so much for the 
 enclosure of one hundred pounds, and your kind 
 letter, both this morning received. It is the last 
 penny I 11 ever ask you to send me, I swear that 
 to you. I was pretty well cleaned out when it 
 came, and never was gladder in my life to see 
 your writing. Tell Sissy that I am going to make 
 a dash for a fortune here. There s a pretty girl 
 attached to it, to whom I can easily become at 
 tached. Failing this, I shall start for Mexico, and 
 strike out for myself. I suppose Dad does n t sus 
 pect where I am ; don t let him know. Does n t 
 he wonder who your feminine correspondent is ? 
 Love to Sissy and your dear old self. 
 
 From your ever affectionate 
 
 CUTHBERT. 
 
 The letter was written in a small but bold 
 hand. He directed the envelope in a large 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 55 
 
 pointed ladylike chirography. It bore this 
 superscription : 
 
 To MRS. MARTIN LARKINGTON, 
 
 Care LARKINGTON & Co., 
 
 No. 7 Washleathcr St., 
 Strand, London. 
 
 Now, if Mrs. Craig or Mrs. Fallow-Deer 
 had happened to see this letter which their 
 new acquaintance had just written to his 
 mother, they would have been somewhat sur 
 prised at the business address which it bore. 
 They would have looked for the following 
 aristocratic superscription : 
 
 LADY LARKINGTON LUCRE, 
 Larkington House, 
 
 Larkington, Oxfordshire. 
 
 Having performed this filial duty, Lark 
 ington proceeded to look over the notes 
 which he had so hurriedly read at the Post- 
 Office. One there was which he had passed 
 over, and on opening it he gave an exclama 
 tion of pleasure. The note was from Charles 
 
56 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Farwell, who offered Mr. Larkington the use 
 of his two polo ponies during his absence, 
 which would last for about two weeks, and 
 telling him that a match was to take place 
 that very afternoon, in which Farwell had ar 
 ranged for Larkington to take his place. 
 
 If there was one pursuit which the Eng 
 lishman cared for, more than any other 
 in the world, it was certainly the game of 
 polo. 
 
 Larkington was a tall athletic fellow, light 
 of body and sinewy of limb. His arms and 
 legs were long, and he had that grace of 
 movement which comes only from a con 
 dition of perfect physical health and muscu 
 lar development. Nimrod was his hero and 
 his god. From hunting and athletic pur 
 suits and sports he derived the greatest en 
 joyment of his life. 
 
 He was withal not lacking in other attain 
 ments which made him an agreeable man 
 in a drawing-room, as well as a prominent 
 one in the field. He had a gift for music 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 57 
 
 which, although uncultivated, was all the 
 more remarkable. He could play any air 
 that he had ever heard v with an abandon 
 and spirit which to unmusical people were 
 more captivating than the careful perform 
 ance of a finished musician. He could talk 
 of English politics with a certain knowledge 
 of facts, but with an indifference to princi 
 ples which proved that he was not guided 
 by them. 
 
 He was fairly well educated, had been at 
 a good public school, but had not passed 
 through a university. 
 
 He knew quite as much of Paris, Vienna, 
 and Rome, as of London, and seemed even 
 rather more at home in the society of these 
 European capitals than in that of London, 
 judging from his conversation concerning 
 them. He spoke astonishing fact for 
 an Englishman ! excellent French, good 
 German, and could make himself understood 
 in the other languages of Europe. His ideas 
 about art were absolutely without value. 
 
58 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Indeed, it should rather be said that he 
 had none, being entirely wanting in artistic 
 sense. 
 
 With all that belonged to nature he was 
 in perfect sympathy, and his advice about 
 the care of horses or cattle, and his com 
 ments on vegetables and fruit and the best 
 manner of raising them, were well worth 
 hearing. 
 
 Children liked him and came to him, as 
 did dogs and all other uncivilized beings, but 
 with women he was, strangely enough, not 
 popular. He got on much better with men, 
 and had had little to do with women. Of 
 love in its higher form he knew nothing. 
 
 Five o clock was the time appointed for 
 polo, and at ten minutes past the hour, 
 Larkington entered the grounds of the West- 
 chester Polo Club, and rode down to the 
 small pavilion tent, from the top of which 
 floated a white flag. His faithful servant 
 Stirrups, who was by turns his valet, groom, 
 and companion, stood waiting him with 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 59 
 
 Charles Farwell s ponies. They were two 
 sturdy little mustangs, with short cropped 
 manes, and legs bandaged to the body for 
 protection against the blows of the mallets. 
 
 One of his side told him that the match 
 would not begin for a quarter of an hour, and 
 Larkington took this opportunity of examin 
 ing the ground which was soon to be turned 
 into a battle-field. He had played polo in 
 England and in Nice, but he affirmed to the 
 men in the tent " that this ground beat all 
 the others he had ever seen, hollow." 
 
 The large space of turf, which was out 
 lined by strips of whitewash, marking the 
 boundaries of the polo ground, was emerald 
 
 green. 
 
 Outside of these lines was a wide drive 
 way, with room enough for three or four 
 carriages to stand abreast. A high fence 
 surrounded the driveway, which was on this 
 afternoon filled with carriages of every de 
 scription. 
 
 The north side was reserved for the coaches, 
 
60 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 of which a dozen were assembled, covered 
 with maids and matrons, in rainbow-hued 
 gowns and smart coaching-hats. 
 
 Equestrians were there, too, and a group of 
 people standing and sitting in the corner, 
 where stood a covered platform filled with 
 chairs. 
 
 The horses and their trappings were mag 
 nificent, and the sloping beams of light thrown 
 by the afternoon sun revealed a spectacle of 
 glittering wealth and display which is not 
 surpassed in any city of the world. 
 
 So thought Larking ton, and so said Lark- 
 ington, with that British frankness which, if 
 it brusquely sneers at times at American man 
 ners and solecisms, quite as freely and mag 
 nanimously praises, on occasion. 
 
 " There comes the coach with the Presi 
 dent," said one of the bachelors from the 
 tent ; " the game will be called in five min 
 utes. Are you ready, Larkington ? " The 
 Englishman for answer threw off his cover 
 coat, and, standing revealed in his white jer- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 6 1 
 
 sey, boots, and breeches, proceeded to tie 
 about his head a white silk kuffia, adjusting 
 it with a twisted cord, and fastening the ends 
 at the back of his head, after the fashion of 
 the Bedouins of Syria. The match on this 
 particular afternoon was between the bach 
 elors and married men of the club ; and as 
 Charles Farwell was to have played in it, 
 he had arranged for Larkington to take his 
 place. 
 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer had bested him to do 
 
 oO 
 
 something for the Englishman, and this had 
 been the easiest thing to do. 
 
 A prize cup had been offered by the ladies 
 of Newport, and the match was undoubtedly 
 the most important one of the season. 
 
 "Just like my luck to be in for this 
 game," Larkington had said to Stirrups that 
 morning. 
 
 The signal to ride into the field was now 
 given, and the six bachelors, chastely and ap 
 propriately attired in white, rode into place at 
 their end of the ground. Ranged side by side, 
 
62 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 with raised mallets, they sat waiting, their 
 eyes fixed upon the red flag in the umpire s 
 hand. 
 
 Their adversaries, six married men, at the 
 opposite end of the field, were well able to 
 cope with them, if one might judge from their 
 appearance and that of their ponies. The 
 figures of these men were fine and athletic ; 
 their costume was of dark blue and yellow 
 stripes. 
 
 "Are you ready? One, two, three, go!" 
 said the umpire ; the red flag was dropped 
 and the ball thrown into the middle of the 
 ground. 
 
 Flash ! crash ! went the twelve ponies and 
 their twelve riders, dashing toward each other 
 at lightning speed, each and every one deter 
 mined to have the first blow at the little white 
 wooden ball, which lay peacefully on the 
 grass. 
 
 It was a grand stroke, the first one, dealt by 
 the mallet of a white player, who to most of 
 the spectators was a stranger. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 63 
 
 The ball was driven straight and clear to 
 ward the goal, and the blues had hard work 
 in getting it back again. It was a hard- 
 fought game, however, and both sides played 
 well and pluckily; but the married men and 
 their backers, who had been hopeful of suc 
 cess since it had been learned that Farwell, 
 by long odds the best player of the club, 
 was not in the field, began to be rather de 
 spondent. 
 
 Finally, after ten minutes sharp contest, a 
 splendid stroke from Larkington put the ball 
 out between the two upright wands which 
 marked the adversaries goal, and the first 
 game was scored by the bachelors. 
 
 Five games were played, three being won 
 by the white players, and the Benedicts being 
 defeated by one game. 
 
 At the close of the match Larkington was 
 congratulated on his playing by his allies and 
 adversaries alike, and he felt that the polo 
 match had raised him another step in the 
 seemingly easy ladder of American society. 
 
64 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Larkington called that evening at Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer s, and found the ladies at 
 home. 
 
 Count Clawski, who had been dining en 
 famille with Mrs. Fallow-Deer, obligingly de 
 voted himself to her, and Larkington was 
 left free to talk to Miss Carleton. 
 
 He was in high spirits. The splendid 
 exercise of the afternoon had set his blood 
 aglow, and a convivial dinner with the bach 
 elors, which had followed at the house of 
 their captain, had not decreased his pleas 
 urable condition of mind and body. Miss 
 Carleton was as charming a person to talk 
 to, to listen to, to look at, as Larkington had 
 ever met. 
 
 She was sitting the attitude would be 
 better described as reclining in a low arm 
 chair ; her strong and svelte young figure 
 took a natural and thoroughly graceful pose, 
 and the folds of her white dress fell about its 
 outlines, revealing them, but not too dis 
 tinctly for maidenliness. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 65 
 
 Her dress, which was of some thick and 
 soft material, was close at the neck and 
 wrists. She had the shoulders and arms of 
 a goddess, but she never showed them. It 
 was one of the few bits of sentiment which 
 her mother had never laughed her out of. 
 
 In the old days, when she and Cid had 
 had the one-sided understanding, he had 
 begged her to keep those beauties from the 
 eyes of the world. 
 
 " It is enough that they can see your face," 
 he said jealously ; he would almost have 
 liked her to wear a yashmack, and keep that 
 face for his eyes alone. 
 
 She had promised him in a weak moment 
 never to wear the undress of ball dress, and 
 she had kept her word. 
 
 Larkington was really pleased with the 
 beauty and grace of the girl, and, as he had 
 written to his mother, he thought it would 
 be an easy as well as pleasant thing to 
 become attached to her. 
 
 He was not much used to making love to 
 
66 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 ladies, and was not very sure of himself, but 
 he did his best, and found that his pretty 
 speeches were graciously, if cynically, lis 
 tened to. 
 
 She puzzled him, this beauty, whose eyes 
 did not droop, nor color change, under the 
 ardent look of admiration which he fixed 
 upon her. 
 
 She was thoroughly mistress of the situa 
 tion, and when, after a too flagrant compli 
 ment, she turned upon him and with good- 
 natured satire analyzed and caricatured all 
 his speeches, cutting them to pieces, he was 
 forced to laugh at her wit, though it had 
 been at his own expense. 
 
 She liked his flattery, as he plainly saw, 
 though it did not deceive her. 
 
 And when he asked if he might come to 
 morrow and coach her a little in her serving 
 at tennis, which had seemed to him faulty 
 that day at the Casino, she consented, and 
 appointed the hour of twelve for the lesson. 
 
 " You will stay and lunch with us after the 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 67 
 
 game, Mr. Larkington ? " said Mrs. Fallow- 
 Deer, hospitably. 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure, madam," an 
 swered the Englishman. 
 
 He took his leave. Both ladies shook 
 hands with him in saying good-night, Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer with the real cordiality which 
 underlay all the superficial artificiality of her 
 manner ; and Gladys laid a smooth white 
 hand for an instant in his own. 
 
 Under similar circumstances he would 
 have been apt to press the hand of a woman 
 he so much admired, and whose manner with 
 him had been so easy. He was in a state of 
 unusual exhilaration, and even felt himself to 
 be a little in love. 
 
 Something, however, in the young girl s 
 eyes made him touch her hand as coolly and 
 lightly as if she had been old and ugly 
 instead of young and very beautiful. 
 
 There was a spirit of good-fellowship about 
 her that fascinated him ; it alternated so 
 strangely with the grand air which seemed 
 
68 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 equally natural to her, and which was as 
 scornful and aristocratic as if she had been 
 born a princess. 
 
 " Do you not find the American girls very 
 different from any others, Clawski ? " he asked, 
 as the two men left the house together. 
 
 " Mon Dieu, yes," replied the diplomate. 
 * I do not pretend to understand them, and 
 have never anything to say to them. They 
 are to me charming, but incomprehensible. 
 With the married women I am at home, but 
 with the young ladies who rule so much in 
 American society, I am quite at a loss to 
 understand, or make myself understood." 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 69 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GLADYS CARLETON was not one of the 
 women who are born possessed of a demon 
 of coquetry. The mere suffering which a 
 man undergoes at the hands of a coquette is 
 not in its first effects so greatly to be depre 
 cated. It is in the consequences that lies 
 the deepest wrong which the insincere woman 
 does to the man who loves her. For the 
 distrust of her whole sex which grows upon 
 him, and the conviction that neither she nor 
 her kind are worthy of the best that is 
 in his nature, she is responsible. The disdain 
 which he may feel toward her cannot greatly 
 injure him. 
 
 But the spirit in which he regards that 
 tendency in his nature which looks to woman 
 for the truest support of his life, and the 
 
70 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 systematic hardening of those qualities in 
 him which reach out instinctively to the 
 feminine side of humanity, are soul hurts, 
 which are not healed when the pain of the 
 deceived love has passed. 
 
 His judgment of the whole sex cannot 
 fail to be biassed by his experience of the 
 woman who has most deeply interested him. 
 Thus it is that the coquette, by lowering the 
 whole standard of womanhood in the eyes of 
 man, injures her own sex as well as the other. 
 
 The forms of coquetry are infinitely va 
 ried, and some of them are much more rep 
 rehensible than others. The woman who 
 undertakes conquests simply for the glory of 
 displaying at the wheels of her chariot the 
 captive she holds by the rosy bonds of love, 
 is the commonest type. 
 
 As her coquetry is of the most patent kind, 
 its wounds are rarely severe or lasting, and yet 
 there is a certain vulgarity about this spirit of 
 conquest, which makes this type of women 
 dangerous to both men and women. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. /I 
 
 A more subtle and disastrous influence is 
 wielded by the woman who is bent on the 
 scientific analysis of the various effects pro 
 duced by the tender passion on men of differ 
 ent character and nature. 
 
 She has little pigeon-holes marked with 
 different characteristic names, and into these 
 she classifies every new specimen. She is 
 apt soon to discover that the pigeon-holes 
 may be very few, and that nearly all the men 
 she meets will fit exactly into one or another 
 of them. 
 
 When she has arrived at this conclusion 
 she is satisfied ; two or three good specimens 
 of every sort having been coolly analyzed 
 and properly pigeon-holed. 
 
 It is variety, and not quantity, she desires ; 
 and, having already become quite familiar 
 with the manner in which a certain species 
 of the genus homo is affected by the greatest 
 of passions, she allows many possible victims 
 to pass by without an effort or desire to add 
 them to her collection ; but if a specimen 
 
72 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 hitherto unclassified crosses her path, she is 
 ready with her little dissecting-knife to peer 
 into the labyrinths of a new phase of human 
 nature. 
 
 Another class, perhaps the most dan 
 gerous one, into which we are dividing co 
 quettes, includes those women who fancy 
 themselves in love with each fresh lover. 
 These are emotional and sympathetic wo 
 men, who, being incapable of strong feelings 
 themselves, are borne along by the force of 
 a passion which fascinates them, and which 
 they would gladly reciprocate. In their often 
 renewed disappointment at finding that the 
 new lover cannot make them forget them 
 selves, they feel a sense of injustice, and 
 never dream that they are not the injured 
 ones. 
 
 To none of these classes of coquettes did 
 Gladys belong. She had broken her share 
 of hearts in her day, but it was more for 
 want of an occupation than for any other 
 reason. She had no very particular talent 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 73 
 
 for anything, not even for society, in which 
 she was a prominent but not a popular 
 figure. 
 
 A great belle she undoubtedly was, which 
 did not make the women particularly fond of 
 her. Men all admired her, and elbowed and 
 fought for a place at her side in the ball 
 room. A good many of them were in love 
 with her, and yet few liked her. She was 
 admirable, she was lovable, but she was dis 
 tinctly unlikable. 
 
 A certain fondness for the truth made her 
 speak it at all times, even when it carried 
 something of a sting with it. 
 
 Her intellect was of a high order enough 
 to show her the insipidity of the men and 
 women among whom her lot was cast. It 
 was not strong enough to force her to leave 
 the circle in which she was born, and strive 
 for a footing in the world of thought, action, 
 art, or literature. 
 
 She laughed at the Philistines, and yet 
 avowed herself to be one of them. 
 
74 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 The clever men, those who wrote books 
 and painted pictures, if they found them 
 selves in her company, were invariably drawn 
 toward her. She numbered a poet, two jour 
 nalists, and a marine painter among her win 
 ter s conquests. 
 
 Tennis was one of her favorite amuse 
 ments, and when her English acquaintance 
 appeared, in accordance with her permission, 
 at twelve o clock on the morning after the 
 polo match, he found her dressed for the 
 game. A long practice followed, at the end 
 of which Miss Carleton acknowledged her 
 indebtedness to Mr. Larkington for several 
 points. 
 
 " What can I teach you in return for your 
 excellent coaching, Mr. Larkington ? " asked 
 Gladys, as they sat on the veranda after 
 lunch. The young man was silent, and ab 
 sently rolled himself a cigarette, using one 
 hand in the operation, a I Espagnol. 
 
 "You are silent. Does that mean that 
 I cannot teach you anything? Well, per- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 75 
 
 haps you are right ; I am rather an ignora 
 
 mus." 
 
 " Why do you answer your own question ? 
 You can teach me many, many things, but 
 what I should like best to learn would be 
 how to please you, Miss Gladys." 
 
 " If you want to please me, don t call me 
 Miss Gladys. I am well out of my teens, 
 and do not care to be addressed in that 
 school-girl fashion. I know you have heard 
 other men speak of and to me in that man 
 ner; but it is an odious fashion, and I hate 
 it." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Carleton, I 
 will not offend you again in that matter. 
 What are you going to do this afternoon ? 
 You must send me away if I interfere with 
 any of your engagements." 
 
 " I am going out at four, in Mr. Bel- 
 homme s yacht. I want to see the sunset over 
 the waters. I promised my cousin, before he 
 left, that I would go to a certain spot and 
 get a particular view of the bay. I am quix- 
 
76 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 otic in the matter of promises; yes, really 
 I am, and never break one. Mr. Belhom- 
 me has promised to take me just where I 
 want to go. Would you like to go with 
 us ? " 
 
 " I should of course be delighted ; but 
 would it be convenient, do you think ? " 
 
 " Oh, perfectly ; I make up my own party, 
 and invite all the people. Mrs. Fallow-Deer 
 is going as chaperon. I don t know how 
 you will like the company, I fancy you will 
 not know any of them ; it is the Boston gang 
 principally." 
 
 " Indeed, I never met a Bostonian to know 
 him or her. They are said to be more 
 like English people than New Yorkers are ; 
 is that true ? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it is. Those who come 
 to Newport are a queer lot. We have a 
 great many traditions about the cleverness 
 of the Boston women, the fascinations of the 
 men, but I confess to be greatly at a loss to 
 account for their reputation, which I don t 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 77 
 
 think is deserved. The women are not any 
 prettier, and certainly the specimens we see 
 here are no better informed, than the average 
 New Yorker. They have a curious elephan 
 tine way of carrying on flirtations, which is 
 quite peculiar to them. The men are all 
 married and very much married ; they seem 
 to have entirely severed their relations with 
 all womankind, save their wives. The few 
 bachelors I have met are so petted and 
 spoiled that there is no enduring them." 
 
 " You dispose of them in a few words." 
 
 "You shall judge if my remarks are with 
 or without a foundation." 
 
 Before many hours passed, Mr. Larkington 
 had an excellent opportunity of noticing the 
 manners and customs of the " Boston gang," 
 as Gladys had disrespectfully spoken of her 
 guests of the afternoon. 
 
 The distance from the wharf to the great 
 steam yacht was safely accomplished in a 
 pretty rowboat. As soon as the party were 
 all on board, the good yacht Dolphin steamed 
 
78 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 out of the harbor, and headed for quiet water, 
 passing along the coast of the island, toward 
 Providence. 
 
 Gladys, who was a capital sailor, rather 
 viciously suggested going " outside " into the 
 rough waters of the open sea, but she was 
 silenced by a sharp rebuke from Mrs. Fallow- 
 Deer, who grew pale at the very thought. 
 The ladies of the " Boston gang " seemed no 
 better pleased at the idea, and the Dolphin, 
 abandoning all hopes of a tumble with the 
 waves, cut the quiet waters evenly with her 
 sharp prow. 
 
 Miss Carleton expatiated upon the joys of 
 riding over the big waves. 
 
 Mr. Larkington was presented first to one 
 and then to another of the ladies, with all of 
 whom he found himself quite at home in a 
 short time. 
 
 Their names he was somewhat puzzled by ; 
 many of them he had never before met with 
 in any part of the world. 
 
 One pretty married woman with an impos- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 79 
 
 sible three-syllabled patronymic advised him 
 to come to Boston for the winter, if he 
 should remain so long in America. 
 
 She explained that for a man the Athens 
 of America was really the most delightful 
 place in the world. Nowhere else were they 
 so well treated, in spite of all the talk about 
 the rights of women. 
 
 " Things are rather reversed with us, and 
 it is the men who have all the privileges. 
 We women are so much in the majority 
 that we practically have the same rights that 
 men do. Indeed, the male sex are, in our 
 community, the privileged class. They are 
 exempt from every social duty, and included 
 in every social pleasure. The charities and 
 the reforms are carried on by ladies, who 
 minister to the sick and uphold the priv 
 ileges of the criminals. We visit the hos 
 pitals and the prisons, pay the taxes, give 
 the parties, oversee the schools, and keep 
 up the churches. It is a fair division, is it 
 not?" 
 
80 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 The lady laughed as she asked the ques 
 tion, and Larkington, not knowing what to 
 answer, laughed too. 
 
 He was not quite sure whether she was in 
 earnest or in jest. There was a certain want 
 of softness about the voice of the lady with 
 the three-syllabled name, a certain indepen 
 dence of manner, which did not please him, 
 though he thought her pretty and bright. 
 The pillow behind her slipped to the ground 
 as she sat looking at the group of people 
 at the other end of the boat. Larkington 
 started to pick it up for her, but she had 
 involuntarily stooped and regained it. 
 
 Then she laughed and said, 
 
 " If Miss Carleton had dropped that pillow, 
 it would never have occurred to her that she 
 might pick it up. You see that I quite nat 
 urally leaned forward to get it, though you 
 were so near me. That is the difference be 
 tween the New York and Boston woman. 
 We expect nothing from mankind ; they re 
 gard the male sex as simply created for their 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. Si 
 
 service. Let us join the others ; I think 
 there will be some singing. Somebody has 
 brought Miss Carleton s banjo." 
 
 The Englishman was not displeased at 
 the opportunity thus offered of returning to 
 that part of the deck where Gladys Carleton 
 had thrown herself on a pile of ropes. The 
 mast behind her served for a support. She 
 sat in Turk fashion, a thing few women can 
 do with comfort or with grace. At the mo 
 ment when Larkington approached, Gladys 
 was indulging in the infantile amusement of 
 playing ball with Mr. Silsbee Saltonstall, of 
 Boston. A red apple provided by the stew 
 ard served for the plaything. 
 
 Mr. Saltonstall was a good-looking young 
 fellow of eight and twenty, tall, rather grace 
 fully modelled, with a decidedly handsome 
 head. His was an earnest face, with deep 
 blue near-sighted eyes, blond beard, a wide 
 forehead, and peculiarly sparkling white 
 teeth. 
 
 Gladys threw the apple in the most pro- 
 
82 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 yoking manner, trying every time to toss it 
 out of his reach, but Saltonstall had not 
 played in the Harvard Base Ball Nine for 
 nothing, and he caught it every time, making 
 impossible reaches in all directions. 
 
 After a few minutes, Gladys wearied of the 
 game, and tossed the apple overboard " for 
 the fishes," she said. 
 
 Then Saltonstall, in obedience to a half- 
 gesture from the girl, took his place beside 
 her on an adjacent pile of ropes. 
 
 Gladys did not look at Larkington, who 
 stood near by, but began talking seriously 
 and in a rather low voice to the Bostonian. 
 
 " Your sister tells me you are writing a 
 book, Mr. Saltonstall, on the higher ethics of 
 sociology. I was much interested in talking 
 to her about it. I fancy you do not agree 
 with Herbert Spencer in all his premises, 
 from what I know of your character." 
 
 "You are quite right, Miss Carleton. I 
 find that, in working out to a logical conclu 
 sion the principles which Spencer advances, 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 83 
 
 one finds one s self in a cul-de-sac, and is 
 led up to a blind wall. I therefore main 
 tain that certain of his premises, and the 
 inferences he draws from them, are fallacious. 
 In my book I have tried to explain my 
 doubts of his principles." 
 
 " How interesting you must find it to set 
 your mind in an antagonistic attitude to 
 thinkers like Spencer and Huxley! Could 
 you explain to me just where you differ from 
 these English philosophers ? " 
 
 " In the hypothesis which they maintain 
 concerning cerebral action and intellectual 
 activity. Morality and immorality, accord 
 ing to Huxley, depend merely upon the 
 condition of the muscles and tissues of the 
 body. He admits no responsibility of man, 
 save towards his descendants. For his own 
 misdeeds man is not responsible ; his sins 
 are chargeable to the account of society. 
 The inner essence, the ideal side of human 
 nature, is denied. But let us talk of some 
 thing else besides my hobbies, Miss Carleton. 
 
84 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 I see I am boring you already, and I have 
 driven your English friend away from your 
 side in terror and amaze." 
 
 " And why should you assume that you are 
 boring me, Mr. Saltonstall? Do you think 
 me incapable of following your conversa 
 tion ? " 
 
 " Not for an instant, Miss Carleton ; it is 
 not that you could not think, and think intel 
 ligently, upon this subject, or any other that I 
 could talk to you about only I do not 
 think, to speak frankly, that it interests 
 you." 
 
 " Then why should I have begun by speak 
 ing of it ? " 
 
 " Your natural goodness of heart prompted 
 you to try to put me at my ease." 
 
 " You have known me long enough to 
 know that I have n t any natural goodness 
 of heart." 
 
 " Politeness, then. You will acknowledge 
 that you have that quality to an uncommon 
 degree ? " 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 85 
 
 " Prevarication. Pure prevarication this, 
 Mr. Saltonstall. It is quite useless to pur 
 sue it with me. Remember that I have 
 known you a very long time, and though our 
 acquaintance has been a superficial one, still 
 it has given me some chances to judge of 
 your character. Dissimulation is not a nat 
 ural weakness of yours. You have, no 
 doubt, quite enough sins without cultivat 
 ing that one. Take my advice and remain 
 the living curiosity that you are, the one 
 man who is not a liar. Now tell me why a 
 cloud came into your eyes suddenly, and you 
 shrouded the thoughts in which I was be 
 coming so deeply interested. Frankly now 
 tell me." 
 
 " If you will have the truth, Miss Carleton, 
 I have a particular and possibly unreason 
 able objection to submitting myself to the 
 process known among ladies as drawing a 
 man out. I distinctly dislike to be made to 
 ride my hobby around a lady s drawing-room, 
 or even around her yacht." 
 
86 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " And why do you think I was drawing 
 you out ? " 
 
 " Because you are aware that a man is 
 never so agreeably employed as when ex 
 pounding his own particular theory to an 
 indulgent listener." 
 
 "In other words, you imagine that I was 
 martyrizing myself by listening to your talk, 
 in order that I might inspire you with the 
 pleasant impression that you had succeeded 
 in interesting me ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " From what source have you drawn these 
 conclusions ? " 
 
 " From my former experience of the fair 
 sex. A man may be flattered even when he 
 is not deceived, Miss Carleton. It is a source 
 of satisfaction to know that one has aroused 
 a desire to please." 
 
 " You flatter yourself too much in this 
 case, in fancying that I would take the 
 trouble to counterfeit an interest I do not 
 feel, to act a part, for your benefit." 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 87 
 
 " It is hardly an effort to follow the dic 
 tates of one s nature, Miss Carleton." 
 
 " And you imply exactly what ? " 
 
 u That the love of conquest is fixed in the 
 feminine character. It is the old fable of the 
 knight and the witch. The love of power 
 is the answer to the feminine riddle." 
 
 " I really ought to be angry at your imper 
 tinence, I suppose. But a soft answer turneth 
 away wrath. I will rather try to convince 
 you of the error of your ways. Women are 
 by nature sympathetic. That natural sympa 
 thy of temperament is touched not only on 
 the emotional side, but also on the intellect 
 ual. They have thinking-machines which 
 are for the most part kept quite idle, with 
 out feed, to use a mechanical simile. The 
 new thoughts which a man may bring them 
 quickly set the thinking-machine in motion, 
 and it eagerly draws the feed into its inte 
 rior. Your hobby is to another man who 
 has a stable full of his own, a bore and a 
 nuisance ; to a woman who is hobbyless, it is 
 
88 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 sometimes the greatest pleasure to go for a 
 gallop en croitpe behind a gallant rider who 
 bestrides a well-groomed hobby. Now I was 
 in mid gallop over a new road, familiar to you, 
 interesting to me, when the hobby, being 
 well bred, does not stumble, but the man 
 does, and down we all come together, dissat 
 isfied and balked of our ride. The stone in 
 the road which upset us being nothing in the 
 world but the suspicion vanity how shall 
 I call that quality in the Boston man which 
 is so individual, so intangible, so utterly 
 exasperating ? " 
 
 " You cannot expect me to help you to find 
 that word which is to condemn myself." 
 
 " I have it caution." 
 
 " Miss Carleton, if a man would keep his 
 peace of mind, he must hold fast to caution 
 in your society." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because your fascinations are so devas 
 tating to future security and peace." 
 
 " Then you would rather not be fascinated ? 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 89 
 
 Strange creature ! A European would look 
 on you as a lunatic. And yet it is the char 
 acteristic of your race. One would almost 
 fancy you to be like the youth in the song 
 of Heine, who, when the beautiful maiden 
 asks him the source of his grief, replies : 
 I belong to that race of Asras who must 
 die when they love. But, to convince you 
 that I have no design in * drawing you out, 
 to prove that I am not plotting against your 
 peace of mind, I shall join the Philistines, 
 who have been clamoring for a song ; will 
 you help me in the chorus ? " 
 
 Saltonstall could not sing, unfortunately, 
 and he rather unreasonably resented the 
 breaking up of a tete-a-tete so agreeable, so 
 dangerous. Gladys tuned her banjo, and, a 
 mandolin being found in the depths of Mr. 
 Belhomme s stateroom, Larkington accom 
 panied the music of the tinkling instrument 
 with the softer picking of the mandolin 
 strings. He had learned to play the instru 
 ment in Naples long ago, he said. The sirl 
 
90 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 had a strong, sweet soprano voice ; the man, 
 a baritone of velvety quality. 
 
 They first sang the popular music of the 
 time, the strains of lolanthe and the Sor 
 cerer. Then, as the day waned and the sea 
 and sky grew rosy and golden with the 
 sunset colors, they sang tender Italian folk 
 songs. 
 
 Saltonstall stood leaning against the mast, 
 looking at Gladys as she stood facing him, 
 her figure in a pose of perfect grace, her 
 head thrown back a little, her white hands 
 touching the strings of her instrument. Her 
 face was lit up with the warm hues of the 
 sunset clouds ; behind her was a background 
 of dark land and gray sky. 
 
 As the boat glided smoothly along the 
 shores of the island, the mighty trees of 
 Redwood loomed up, looking twice their size 
 in the uncertain light. Over the tops of the 
 proud trees crept the big yellow moon slowly, 
 flooding the heavens with her light, shaming 
 the garish fires of the western sky. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 91 
 
 As they entered the harbor and drew near 
 the wharf, the two voices, which had for a 
 time been silent, broke forth into a " good 
 night," a pretty German serenade, which 
 was received with great applause. 
 
 " Thank you for the most perfect day of 
 my life," whispered Larkington, as he helped 
 Gladys down the gangway to the little boat. 
 
 " Good-night and good-by, Miss Carleton," 
 said Silsbee Saltonstall. " I shall not have 
 the pleasure of seeing you again, as I leave 
 Newport to-morrow." 
 
 " And has to-day been so long that the 
 month you yesterday expected to pass at 
 Newport seems to have gone by? Thank 
 you for the compliment. Good-by ; don 
 voyage. Take my advice, and, as you are 
 a cautious Boston man, don t go to Mt. 
 Desert. I should recommend the Adiron- 
 dacks for you. Good-night." 
 
 True to his word, Silsbee Saltonstall left 
 Newport the next morning. He felt himself 
 on the verge of falling in love with the 
 
92 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 strange girl with the deep eyes and lovely 
 voice. It was not in accordance with his 
 plan of life to fall in love for the next ten 
 years. 
 
 He followed Miss Carleton s advice in 
 avoiding Mount Desert, and chose instead 
 a month s camping out in Northern Maine. 
 The sonnet he wrote to her that night after 
 the sail Gladys never saw till years after, 
 when she stumbled upon it in a book of his 
 verses. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 93 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ON Monday evening all the beau monde of 
 Newport assemble and meet together in the 
 hall, or theatre, of the Casino. 
 
 It is a pretty building, with wide-roofed 
 piazzas running around it on two sides. 
 There are delicious corners and angles in 
 these piazzas, where confidences may be 
 whispered, and protestations might be made, 
 if anybody had time to make protestations 
 at Newport during the season. 
 
 The hall is a large apartment, with a stage 
 at one end. The walls are of a pretty light 
 tint, and the gallery with its rounded arches 
 is of a graceful design. The polished hard 
 wood floor is cleared on Monday evening for 
 dancing. 
 
 On the evening in question, the hall was 
 filled with an unusually large company of 
 
94 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 gayly dressed people. Every available seat 
 was occupied, and the crowd of black coats 
 in the doorways was as dense as it is at a 
 Boston Papanti party. The corresponding 
 number of pretty, fresh, unattended young 
 girls on the benches was not, however, to be 
 found. 
 
 The hum of the voices was very loud, 
 almost deafening to a silent person when the 
 sound was not drowned by the music. At 
 the right-hand upper corner of the room the 
 talk seemed to be the loudest. Here sat a 
 group of people conversing busily and* ear 
 nestly. This little knot of eighteen or twenty 
 persons included those whom Gladys had 
 yclept the " Boston gang." The central fig 
 ure w^as that of a tall handsome lady, with a 
 loud voice and brusque manner. 
 
 " I call it very shabby of Mrs. Fallow-Deer 
 to leave me out of the hunt dinner; but it s 
 a comfort to know that none of the rest of 
 you are goin ," said the handsome brusque 
 lady. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 95 
 
 " It was just like her, but I suppose Gladys 
 Carleton was at the bottom of it. Were the 
 invitations given out in Mrs. Fallow-Deer s 
 name ? " 
 
 The speaker was the lady with the three- 
 syllabled name whom Larkington had met 
 on board the Dolphin on the occasion of the 
 yachting party. 
 
 " No," said the handsome brusque lady ; 
 "but everybody knows that she and Gray 
 Grosvenor made out the list. As to Gladys 
 Carleton, I can t say I blame her for not 
 likin Boston people." 
 
 " Why ? " asked several voices. 
 
 "Because, when she came on there to 
 make a visit last winter, she had a perfectly 
 horrid time. She stayed with some people 
 livin on Newbury Street, whom she had met 
 in Europe. They were from Philadelphia, 
 and nobody knew them in Boston, though 
 they had lived there five years. I got her an 
 invitation to the assembly, but she would not 
 go because her friends were not asked. They 
 
g6 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 were very nice people, but somehow they did 
 not get on in Boston." 
 
 " Don t you think that the Hub is a pretty 
 hard place for any stranger to get on in ? " 
 
 Mr. Curtis Sears was the speaker. He 
 was a young Bostonian, with a cold thought 
 ful face, who looked as if he had been feel on 
 ice-water during his infancy, instead of the 
 less chilly fluid provided by nature for the 
 human young. His question was answered 
 by the handsome brusque lady. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Sears, I quite agree with you. 
 A stranger who comes to Boston for a few 
 weeks, if he brings proper letters, is sure to 
 receive a great deal of attention. We like a 
 lion immensely. But with people who come 
 to live amongst us, it is a very different mat 
 ter. Then it is not a question of an acquaint 
 anceship of a few weeks, but a permanent 
 one. That makes such a difference." 
 
 " One of my old classmates at college 
 married last year, and brought his wife, who 
 was a New York belle, to Boston. She hap- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 97 
 
 pened to have neither relatives nor friends in 
 our city, and as he was little given to society, 
 he had few personal relations with it. He 
 belonged to one of the best families, but that 
 served the little bride in no wise. People 
 simply let her alone. A few of the best- 
 mannered of the neighbors called upon her, 
 and the husband s relatives asked her to dine 
 once at their several houses, and there it 
 stopped. She now rails against Boston, and 
 lives but in the hope of inducing her hus 
 band to remove to New York." 
 
 "The truth of the matter is," said the 
 pretty lady with the three-syllabled name, 
 " that we don t want all the nice men to 
 marry out of Boston. We all have cousins 
 and sisters, even if our daughters are too 
 young to think about from a matrimonial 
 standpoint, and it is very aggravating to 
 have these New York women just pick and 
 choose all our best matches, while we are 
 groaning under the overwhelming surplus of 
 our female population." 
 
 7 
 
98 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 This remark was received by the ladies of 
 the " gang " with a noticeable warmth and 
 sympathy. 
 
 At this moment a group of people entered 
 the ballroom, attracting the attention of all 
 its occupants. 
 
 " These are the people from the hunt din 
 ner," said the handsome lady. 
 
 The gentlemen of the party of new ar 
 rivals there were perhaps fifteen of them 
 were dressed in red evening coats and 
 white breeches. The costumes of the ladies 
 were all pretty, and bore enough resemblance 
 to each other to make the whole company 
 appear to be in uniform. Mrs. Fallow-Deer, 
 leaning on the arm of Mr. Belhomme, headed 
 the train. In her hand she carried a long 
 polo mallet of flowers. Mrs. Craig bore on 
 her arm a saddle of pansies. Gladys Carle- 
 ton, who entered the room last with Mr. 
 Larkington, had been awarded, as a floral 
 token from the dinner, a hunting-horn of 
 scarlet flowers, which she wore over her 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 99 
 
 shoulder, attached by a red ribbon. The 
 entrance of the gay party was a picturesque 
 and striking feature of the evening. 
 
 Their arrival seemed to brighten up the 
 company already assembled, the hum of talk 
 grew louder, and the crowd of dancers thicker 
 than it had been earlier in the evening. The 
 band was playing the wavy, intoxicating music 
 of Strauss, and the circling couples danced 
 rhythmically to the measures of the slow 
 waltz. 
 
 " Will you dance with me, Miss Carleton ? " 
 asked Larkington. 
 
 " No, Mr. Larkington ; I am not in the 
 mood for dancing to-night. You should ask 
 Mrs. Craig; she is an excellent dancer. I 
 am too blue to care about waltzing." 
 
 " How can you say that you are blue when 
 you have been the life of the dinner? You 
 never looked more brilliantly well than to 
 night. Has anything annoyed you, have 
 I " 
 
 "You flatter yourself too highly, Mr. 
 
100 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Larkington. No, nothing has happened, 
 and you have nothing to do with my in 
 digo fit." 
 
 " Something has " 
 
 Gladys again interrupted her interlocutor. 
 " No, nothing has ! I am simply tired of 
 myself. There is the difficulty. You know 
 something of the ways of people ; have you 
 ever before known a person in my position, 
 with plenty to eat and drink, good clothes to 
 wear, kind friends, and perfect health, who 
 was perfectly weary of herself? It is not 
 life that I am bored with, but myself. I am 
 so tired of my own face that I cannot bear 
 to look in the glass ; as to my inner self, 
 it is the most tiresome, utterly uninteresting 
 thing to me in the wide world." 
 
 " I cannot understand your state of mind, 
 Miss Gladys, I beg pardon, I forgot, 
 Miss Carleton. Is it not Newport that you 
 are bored with ? Why not try some other 
 place for a change ? " 
 
 " Why ? I cannot leave myself behind, no 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. IOI 
 
 matter how fast I might travel, seeking new 
 scenes, from Mt. Desert to Saratoga." 
 
 The Englishman looked mildly bewildered 
 and answered nothing ; gazing, meanwhile, 
 straight into the deep eyes which knew no 
 shadow of turning. He was certainly fall 
 ing in love perhaps he had already fallen 
 in love with this original, many-sided crea 
 ture, as fascinating to him as she was incom 
 prehensible. Larkington had steadily per 
 sisted in his attentions to Miss Carleton, and 
 was not ashamed to have it known that he 
 was her devoted admirer. He avoided mak 
 ing the acquaintance of other ladies as much 
 as possible ; and when he could not be at her 
 side in society, he would stand alone, watch 
 ing her every movement. The sort of cow 
 ardice which Gladys had found in some of 
 her compatriot lovers, who endeavored to 
 screen their admiration of her from the 
 world, had no place in the actions of the 
 Englishman. He waited for her every morn 
 ing when she drove out for shopping or visit- 
 
IO2 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 ing in her cousin Amelia s pretty cart with 
 the Carleton crest on harness and trappings. 
 He followed on horseback, meeting her at 
 every turn. In the afternoon he was always 
 in attendance, even if there were other men 
 about, and in society she was the only woman 
 under fifty with whom he ever exchanged a 
 remark. 
 
 This absolute devotion was rather attrac 
 tive to Gladys. She was amused by the big, 
 handsome man who was so entirely of the 
 world worldly, in most respects, and yet 
 seemed so perfectly unaccustomed to the 
 ways of women. 
 
 He had a fund of interesting experiences 
 to relate, and, being gifted with a powerful 
 imagination and a vivid faculty of descrip 
 tion, he was never at a loss for an anecdote 
 of travel or adventure. 
 
 His stories of life in Australia were thrill 
 ing and full of crisp humor. He knew 
 Russia and the other northern countries of 
 Europe, as well as the more frequented 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 103 
 
 southern lands. What he knew he had 
 learned from actual contact with the world 
 and its people, and there was no guide-book 
 knowledge or other cheap information to be 
 got from him. He had lived in Syria with 
 a band of Bedouins, and his descriptions of 
 their adventurous life never failed to interest 
 Gladys. He had learned their strange mu 
 sic, and could sing their wild songs of love 
 and battle wonderfully well. He had no 
 theories about the men and women he had 
 known. They had fallen across his path like 
 people one meets in the glare of mid-day, 
 when no shadow is cast upon the ground 
 by the figures. He saw them clean cut, 
 as they stood against the background of 
 their own surroundings, and no shadowy 
 reflection fell behind them as his explana 
 tion of their characters or actions. He saw 
 people distinctly, and remembered them as 
 they were. This quality of impersonal judg 
 ment was very fascinating to Gladys, who al 
 ways enveloped the men and women she had 
 
104 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 known in a sort of misty garment of her own 
 imaginings, which blurred their real outlines. 
 
 " If you will not dance, Miss Carleton, will 
 you not come out on the piazza during the 
 waltz, it is so very warm here ? " 
 
 " By all means ; let us go." 
 
 The two young people, whose names were 
 already linked together by the busybodies of 
 Newport, left the hot ballroom and passed 
 out into the cool evening air. It is never 
 hot at night in Newport. The sea-breeze 
 sweeps across the island, refreshing those 
 who have suffered the terrible heats of the 
 city summer, and have come to the fresh 
 health-giving climate for rest. 
 
 On the wide piazza groups of men were 
 sitting together, talking and smoking, or 
 silently enjoying the beauty of the perfect 
 summer night. 
 
 In one of the shadowy corners stood two 
 chairs lately vacated by Mrs. Craig and 
 Count Clawski. Gladys placed herself in 
 one of these, her companion seating himself 
 at her side. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 105 
 
 " Now tell me things," said the girl, impera 
 tively. 
 
 "What shall it be about to-night?" 
 
 " Oh ! anything you like. You might fin 
 ish telling me about the Bedouin chief who 
 fell in love with the English lady." 
 
 " No, that is rather too long a story. May 
 I not tell you something about Newport and 
 what has happened to me since I first met 
 you here in this very Casino? " 
 
 14 Decidedly not. That would be quite too 
 commonplace and every-day an experience." 
 
 Larkington was silent and meditatively 
 stroked his moustache, from which action he 
 seemed to derive a certain comfort. 
 
 As they sat quite silent, a light flashed 
 close to the face of Gladys, a tiny golden 
 spark, and was quickly lost again in the 
 darkness. 
 
 " What a pretty firefly, and how bright ! " 
 
 " You should take the firefly as your device, 
 Miss Carleton, for it resembles you more 
 than anything else that I have seen." 
 
106 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " If it is a compliment, thank you kindly. 
 You know I like pretty speeches as well as 
 Mrs. Craig likes bonbons. But exactly why 
 am I like a firefly? I have no wings." 
 
 " In the song about Zuleika s eyes which 
 you liked, they are compared to the light of 
 the firefly. When they are turned upon her 
 lover all is bright and beautiful, but when 
 the lids drop before their light, like the 
 wings of the firefly, the world is dark." 
 
 " Did you ever know any one called 
 Zuleika?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Where did she live ? " 
 
 " In a little tent near the banks of the river 
 Jordan." 
 
 " Was she pretty ? " 
 
 "Hardly pretty; the term is too English 
 to describe the black-browed Zuleika." 
 
 " Who was she ? " 
 
 " The daughter of the sheik Abdul, with 
 whom I lived some time." 
 
 " But how was it possible that you should 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. IO/ 
 
 know, or even see, his daughter? Is not 
 that against the law of Mohammedan eti 
 quette ? " 
 
 " Yes. It happened strangely enough. 
 Zuleika, you must know, spoke English, and 
 was, among her people, a marvel of learning. 
 It happened in this wise. The Bedouin who 
 fell in love with the English lady, a brother 
 of Abdul s, finally left his tribe, gave up his 
 wives, and married Lady Margaret Hopeston, 
 an eccentric woman with a large fortune. 
 They lived in Damascus, this strangely 
 matched couple, and led, it is said, an ex 
 tremely happy life. One morning Lady 
 Margaret was roused at an early hour by the 
 sound of a cavalcade tramping in her court 
 yard. On descending to ascertain the reason 
 for the commotion, her eyes were greeted by 
 a strange sight. A whole band of Bedouins, 
 several hundred in number, were crowded 
 into the courtyard and lower story of the 
 house. They were the tribe of her husband, 
 who, having been worsted in battle and pur- 
 
108 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 sued by a hostile band, had come to take 
 refuge within his gates, in the city of Damas 
 cus. For a week the whole band claimed 
 the hospitality of their brother, and made 
 their camp in the house and grounds of 
 Lady Margaret. Her attention was attracted 
 to Abdul, then young and handsome (he has 
 often assured me) as the morning star, tall as 
 the palm-tree, and strong as the whirlwind. 
 Abdul was at that time in great trouble ; his 
 favorite wife had died, leaving him the one 
 daughter of his house, Zuleika, then a child 
 of five. Instead of intrusting her to the care 
 of the women, Abdul was always with the 
 little girl, who was as dear to him as the 
 spring of water in the desert. Lady Mar 
 garet was struck by the devotion of this 
 young father to his child, and became deeply 
 interested in the pair. When the welcome 
 time came for the departure of her strange 
 guests, Lady Margaret asked of Abdul his 
 daughter, his Zuleika, the breath of his body, 
 the sun of his sky. It was all she asked of 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. ICQ 
 
 him, and he, the sheik of the tribe, could 
 refuse no request made by the woman who 
 had sheltered his people. I gave my Zu- 
 leika to the wife of my brother to the 
 woman with great learning without a tear 
 without a sigh. I remember the way in 
 which Abdul told me this, as if it were but 
 yesterday. We were sitting on the sand 
 outside the tent, a great fire blazing before 
 us. Some of the men of the tribe were 
 dancing one of their wild barbaric war dances 
 on the other side of the fire. The light 
 gleamed on their naked swords, their dark 
 fierce faces, and the white drapery of their 
 burnooses. It was a scene never to be for 
 gotten. Zuleika remained with Lady Margaret 
 and learned many things which were of use to 
 her in after life. First of all, Lady Margaret 
 taught her the English language. Zuleika s 
 new friend showed much common-sense in 
 her education of the girl. She knew that it 
 would be impossible to make an English 
 woman of her, and so, beyond the habits of 
 
1 10 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 cleanliness, and the arts of sewing and cook 
 ing, she made no attempt to anglicize the 
 little maiden. Zuleika was taught to em 
 broider the beautiful patterns you value so 
 much in this country. I have a scarf she 
 worked for me, which I will, show you some 
 time. For seven years the daughter of Ab 
 dul remained the constant companion of 
 Lady Margaret, but at the end of that time 
 the restlessness which had ever been upon 
 her grew too great to bear. She was a 
 woman now, according to the reckoning of 
 her people, and the life of restriction had 
 never been pleasant to her. She fled away 
 in the night to the desert, where * she heard 
 the stars calling her, and with the help of 
 one of her people found her father. Abdul 
 rejoiced at the return of the daughter he had 
 mourned as one dead, and kept her always 
 near him. Her condition was a pitiable 
 one. Her father had not the heart to force 
 her to marry among his people, for the 
 girl was naturally intelligent, and with the 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. Ill 
 
 education she had received, rebelled at the 
 thought of being linked to a savage. An 
 other time I will tell you how I came to 
 cast my lot with Abdul the Sheik ; it is a 
 long history of adventure which you may 
 find interesting. It is enough now to say 
 that for three months I was his guest. At 
 that time I was quite ignorant of Arabic, 
 though I soon learned enough to make my 
 self understood. Zuleika, summoned by her 
 father from the tent of the women, would 
 serve as an interpreter between my host and 
 myself, and during the evenings when we 
 sat together smoking before the tent door, 
 the girl would stand at Abdul s side, and 
 translate to him all the things he so eagerly 
 asked of me. He was peculiarly intelligent, 
 and had learned from his daughter much 
 concerning European customs and character. 
 He was never tired of hearing about England 
 and the manner of warfare practised by the 
 English. In return for what I could tell 
 him, the sheik would recite to me the tradi- 
 
112 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 tions of his tribe, and sing the songs of his 
 nation. Zuleika, as you will imagine, added 
 much to the interest of these conversations, 
 telling me of her strange life with Lady Mar 
 garet, and the terrible gulf which it had made 
 between herself and her people. What a 
 long story ! and how tired you must be ! 
 Have you heard enough about Zuleika ? " 
 Larkington asked. 
 
 " No, not half enough ! But there is Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer, looking for me. I suppose I 
 must go. You may come to-morrow evening 
 and tell me the rest of your romance of 
 Arabia. Good-night." 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 1 13 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MUCH that is best worth seeing in New 
 port is never seen by a majority of the 
 people who visit the town during u the sea 
 son." In the eighteen miles length and nine 
 miles breadth of the island are many nooks 
 and grottos unknown to those individuals 
 who limit their expedition to the ocean drive, 
 and the path across the beaches. Artists 
 know these spots and linger in them. Lovers 
 find them out somehow instinctively. But 
 Newport has now become the resort of the 
 rich, and even the dwellers in the quiet 
 country farm-houses demand exorbitant prices 
 for their simple accommodations. So artists 
 are rarely met with, and, as it has been 
 hinted, there are few people who take time at 
 this most brilliant of watering-places to fall 
 
114 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 in love. Love-Lane, Fairy Dell, Glen Anna, 
 Vaucluse, and Lawton s Valley have few 
 visitors. 
 
 It is a pity that the worldlings have found 
 out this region of delight. Any other place 
 would have served as well for the display of 
 their horses and carriages, diamonds, clothes, 
 beauty, and beaux. Why should they have 
 chosen to erect their palatial cottages on our 
 quiet island, to pass their idle summer in the 
 quaint old town ? 
 
 The love of nature is not always a natural 
 gift. With the dwellers in cities, the taste is 
 usually one which has been acquired through 
 the influence of some country-bred or poetic 
 mind. How many beauties of sky and wood 
 land, flower and tree, has not Wordsworth 
 taught us to see ? Keats has led thousands 
 of ears to note the music in the wild bird s 
 carol, which else had hardly heeded it. Who 
 does not see a new delight in the simple 
 field flower after reading Burns s description 
 of the daisy? 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 115 
 
 The love of what is beautiful in art is 
 oftener found with the dwellers of a city than 
 the appreciation of those beauties in nature 
 which art reflects. The person who is deeply 
 impressed by a fine landscape painting will 
 often pass by the view which inspired the 
 painter without observing its qualities of color 
 and effects of light and shade. The sensi 
 tive woman who shrinks at the well-depicted 
 portrait of a wretched beggar will pass the 
 poor creature whose misery has struck the 
 artist without a pang of pity. The girl who 
 weeps bitterly over the sorrows of a heroine 
 in a novel watches with more amusement 
 than sympathy the grief and trials of the 
 heroine of a life romance. 
 
 Gladys Carleton had a good knowledge 
 of art and its laws. A bad picture set her 
 teeth on edge, and she could go through an 
 art gallery without a catalogue, and tell the 
 name of every painter whose work hung 
 before her. With nature she was not so 
 much at home, though a new understanding 
 
Il6 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 seemed to be gradually coming to her of its 
 secrets and charms. It was not without a 
 certain pain that this new feeling crept about 
 her, it seemed to be a part of the grieved 
 loneliness which she had lately experienced. 
 
 " People can be nothing to us ; there is 
 nothing which can stand by us but our work, 
 and when we have not any work, we are 
 alone." 
 
 The speech was not a very coherent one, 
 and the person to whom it was addressed 
 received it in silence. 
 
 " Books are a help, but it is so one-sided 
 a friendship one has with one s book friends. 
 We cannot answer, and only receive, never 
 giving anything in return for what we get 
 from them." 
 
 Gladys Carleton was the speaker, and the 
 listener, Larkington, her faithful cavalier. 
 
 " You live too much with your books, Miss 
 Carleton, and too little with your kind. It 
 makes you melancholy. You should learn 
 to care more for people and less for ideas." 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. II 7 
 
 " What nonsense you are talking, Mr. 
 Larkington ! Excuse me for plain speaking, 
 but you are, really. I do not think you 
 understand at all what I mean." 
 
 " I fear that I do not." 
 
 There was a pause, after which Gladys 
 said abruptly, 
 
 " How far is it to the sea ? " 
 
 "About half a mile, I fancy." 
 
 " Please go down to the shore and bring 
 me a piece of red seaweed." 
 
 " I cannot leave you here alone." 
 
 " Why not, if I order you to go ? Do you 
 not know how to be obedient ? " 
 
 " You are teaching me, Miss Carleton. I 
 never knew before that it was pleasanter to 
 obey than to be obeyed." 
 
 " Of course it is. There is no such luxury 
 in the world as self-abnegation ; it is the 
 thing we all long for." 
 
 " I do not fancy that you would enjoy it ; 
 you are too imperious by nature. You were 
 born to command. I never heard you make 
 a request in your life." 
 
Il8 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " In other words, you think me a bully ? 
 Now go this instant ! I won t have you stay 
 here and abuse me. Go, I say, and bring 
 me the bunch of red seaweed." 
 
 " You are cruel, but I yield. You are not 
 afraid to be left alone ? " 
 
 " No ; I am within calling distance from 
 the house." 
 
 When she was alone, the tall beauty rose 
 from her seat on the trunk of a fallen tree, 
 and walked rapidly in the opposite direction. 
 The path over which she passed was fragrant 
 with pine needles and wild flowers. Over 
 head hung the boughs of the larch-trees 
 which lined the walks, and over the trees was 
 the soft blue of the summer sky. Carrying 
 her riding crop in one hand, and holding her 
 habit with the other, she ran down the path, 
 which sloped suddenly toward the great 
 pond at its foot. 
 
 Gladys had ridden out to visit a country 
 friend, who lived in a quiet vale many miles 
 distant from the gay town. Finding her 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 119 
 
 friend absent, the girl and the admirer, who 
 had been privileged to ride with her, had left 
 their horses in charge of the groom, and 
 walked down to view the quiet beauty of the 
 vale. Gladys loved the place, and was not 
 in the mood for badinage with Larkington. 
 She wished to be alone, and so had sent him 
 off in quest of the bunch of red seaweed. 
 She had not been in this pleasant spot for 
 many years. She remembered the last time 
 she had visited it. Cid had been with her. 
 The thought of him had made the presence 
 of the Englishman hateful to her. 
 
 At the edge of the pond the path swerved 
 to the left, leading down to the deep gorge 
 below. A narrow ledge of rock stretched to 
 the right, skirting the millpond, a precipice 
 of a hundred feet yawning on one side, the 
 deep water on the other. With a quick step 
 the girl passed along the narrow rocky 
 ledge, and seated herself on a great stone, 
 which lay just where the black sheet of water 
 poured smoothly over the edge of the dam, 
 
120 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 to be frothed into a white mass of foam at 
 the bottom of the fall. A strong young 
 willow-tree behind the rock served her as a 
 support, and, twining one arm about its slen 
 der stem, she sat overhanging the waterfall, 
 looking down into the deep pool. 
 
 The bare hand which embraced the trunk 
 touched a rough surface, and her fingers 
 traced the outline of some letters, cut into 
 the bark. She could not see the letters, 
 they were on the other side of the tree, 
 but she had not forgotten the day when 
 they were carved, all those years ago, G. C. 
 and C. F. ? with a true lover s knot between 
 the initials. She laid her cheek against 
 the willow and sat quite silent, looking 
 down, always down, into the black pool at 
 her feet. The downcast eyelids quivered 
 and let fall a tear, which dropped unnoted on 
 her knee. Another and another drop of 
 nature s balm coursed down the pale cheek, 
 and the chest, trembled with emotion of a 
 silent weeping. There was no violence, 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 121 
 
 nothing of that tearing grief with which the 
 women who have lived, loved, and suffered 
 weep out the agony which seems like to rend 
 body and soul apart. The burden of her 
 life seemed too great for her to bear, and she 
 wept for the emptiness of her lot, of her 
 heart. A verse from a poem which had 
 always seemed appropriate to herself ran 
 through her mind : 
 
 " Elle est morte, et n a point vdcu; 
 Elle faisait semblant de vivre. 
 De ses mains est tombd le livre 
 Dans lequel elle n a rien lu." 
 
 When she was dead, what so appropriate as 
 this poem, " Sur line Morte," of De Musset s, 
 could be read over her cold clay? Why 
 should she not die now? How easy would 
 it be to slip down from the great rock, 
 and lose herself in the oblivion of the black 
 pool, with the white foam dancing above 
 her? " Who would care much ? " she 
 asked herself, and answered her own ques 
 tion with more tears. No one would really 
 
122 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 miss her. Her mother would grieve a little 
 while, but the other daughters would soon 
 receive the share of affection which the shal 
 low parent had given her. It was a love of 
 offspring only, and had no tie of sympathy 
 to deepen it. 
 
 How easy it would be to move a few steps 
 to the edge of the great stone, to lean far 
 over the abyss, holding on by the tree, and 
 at last to let go her grasp and fall through 
 the soft air to the cool black water, then one 
 great pain and afterwards, rest ! There 
 was the terrible thought if it should not 
 be rest which she should find beneath the 
 dancing foam bubbles. 
 
 Was it that thought only which kept her 
 from doing the thing which she had pictured 
 to herself? Was it the doubt which held her 
 back ? " Yes," she reasoned, " only that. 
 Were we but sure of what awaits us on the 
 other side, how many of us would remain 
 upon the hither bank of the dark river which 
 men call death, and which saints believe 
 leads to life everlasting." 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 123 
 
 She crept nearer to the edge, and, still 
 clasping the tree with both arms, leaned over 
 the rushing torrent. How easy it would be ! 
 One little movement and all would be over. 
 The slender ringers closely clasped about the 
 tree were all that steadied her. If she should 
 suddenly unlace them the movement would 
 throw her off her balance and the great 
 riddle would be solved. Why should she 
 not ? Was it all a jest ? Was she in earnest 
 or in jest ? She did not know. 
 
 She was fascinated by the strange thought, 
 and stood swaying over the verge of the 
 dizzy height, intoxicated with the danger. In 
 one instant she could regain a firm footing on 
 the ledge, or what was the trembling she felt 
 beneath her feet? Was there an earthquake? 
 Ah ! with a wild cry, it was the rock under 
 her feet that shook. It had become loosened 
 by her weight on its extreme edge, it swayed 
 one instant, and in the next must be dashed 
 into the boiling caldron below and she ? 
 
 This was her reward for trifling with the 
 
124 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 great power. Death, whom she had thought 
 about so lightly, had now come to claim her 
 grimly. She looked up into the blue sky, 
 which was so fair, and out over the beauty of 
 the lonely gorge. She felt, as she had never 
 done before, the beauty about her on every 
 side. She saw the possibilities of happiness 
 and usefulness which she had so utterly neg 
 lected. She knew that life was a blessing, 
 and in the cry which startled the still air 
 there was remorse for her thanklessness as 
 well as agony for her danger. 
 
 The rock thrilled once more beneath her, 
 and as it trembled twixt the ledge and the 
 precipice, Gladys lifted a prayer for her life 
 to the God whose existence she had some 
 time denied. 
 
 A strong hand clasped her fingers, she felt 
 her waist firmly seized, and in an instant she 
 knew that she was safe, though the great 
 rock had fallen from its bed with a mighty 
 crash, and the white foam was dashed upon 
 her cheek and brow. She was carried a few 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 125 
 
 steps in a pair of strong arms which pressed 
 her close to a fast-beating heart. She was 
 placed gently on a mossy bank by some one 
 who spoke no word. Her eyes were closed, 
 though she had not fainted, and she knew 
 whose arm had saved her in the hour of 
 danger. She was grateful and looked up to 
 speak. 
 
 The face into which she glanced was deadly 
 white, and the eyes were dim. She rose to 
 her feet, for he looked so strangely. As she 
 stood up strong, though trembling slightly, 
 the man at her side reeled, as if he had been 
 struck, and fell fainting to the ground at her 
 feet. 
 
 The girl knew quite well what to do, and, 
 being one of those persons who are never 
 overcome by an emergency, she quickly 
 brought the swooning man to his senses. A 
 copious sprinkling with cold water and the 
 application of Miss Carleton s vinaigrette to 
 his nostrils caused Mr. Cuthbert Larkington 
 to open his eyes in a few moments. When 
 
126 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 he was quite restored, Gladys, turning her 
 face from him, said, 
 
 " You have saved my life and I am very 
 grateful to you ! May I ask you a great 
 favor?" 
 
 " Need you doubt it ? " 
 
 " It is this, that you will never mention 
 what has happened to-day to any one. Prom 
 ise me. Do not even speak of it to me. I 
 cannot bear to think of it. It was too 
 terrible." 
 
 " Yes, I will promise on one condition." 
 
 " And that is ? " 
 
 " That you will swear to me never to 
 risk your precious life again so wilfully, so 
 wickedly." 
 
 " It should be a precious life ? " 
 
 " It is dearer to me than my own." 
 
 " Well, I promise. Now pledge me your 
 word." 
 
 She held out to him her delicate hand, 
 white as snow, pink as apple blossoms. The 
 man touched it with his own strong fingers. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. I2/ 
 
 The contact seemed to move him strangely. 
 His pale face flushed, and, clasping the 
 dainty hand, he kissed it a score of times on 
 wrist and ringers and rosy palm. 
 
 " I forgive you because you did me the 
 favor to help me out of a very perilous posi 
 tion just now. But remember that is why 
 you are pardoned. I shall ask you to ride to 
 town alone. My groom will lead my horse ; 
 and I will drive in with my friends to 
 morrow. I mean to ask a night s shelter at 
 the vale ; I am hardly equal to the ride." 
 
 " Let me go to town and fetch out a car 
 riage for you." 
 
 " Thank you, no. I cannot go back, to 
 night, to all the noise and glare of Newport. 
 It is so peaceful here." 
 
 " You have not inquired whether my quest 
 of the seaweed was successful. Here is the 
 little crimson ocean flower." 
 
 " Thank you so much ; I had forgotten all 
 about it. That is a beautiful specimen. Do 
 you feel quite yourself again ? " 
 
128 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " Yes. It was awfully soft of me to faint in 
 that way ; I am thoroughly ashamed of my 
 self. Do you despise me for it ? " 
 
 " No. After you had saved me you had a 
 right to be terrified. Had you been fright 
 ened before, I should not have been here 
 now. Are you glad you saved me ? " 
 
 " Do you not know " 
 
 " Oh yes, of course I know," said the girl 
 hastily, interrupting his vehemence ; " and I 
 am glad, too." 
 
 She turned and looked at the place where 
 she had so lately stood in mortal danger. 
 Everything was peaceful and quiet now. 
 The cool plash of the water came to her 
 ears, and the tender song of a wild bird fell 
 like a triumphant hymn of praise upon the 
 stillness of the day. 
 
 " It is good to live," said the song of the 
 bird. 
 
 " It is enough to be a little part of such 
 a world," sighed the girl. " Why cannot we 
 forget ourselves and our petty ambitions, 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 129 
 
 our loves and our hates, in the peace of all 
 this beauty ? " 
 
 She spoke half to herself and half- to the 
 bird. Larkington knew that he was not ad 
 dressed. He felt a terrible sense of loneli 
 ness. He was with the woman he loved, 
 close at her side. He had carried her in his 
 arms but now, and yet she was farther from 
 him at that moment than she had ever 
 seemed before. 
 
 With the feeling of this distance there 
 came to him a great pain unknown before. 
 What it meant he could not know. If one 
 had told him, he could not have understood 
 the words. He suffered dumbly, ignorantly, 
 with a new sense of his capacity for suffer 
 ing. 
 
 Poor wretch ! Miserable sham, impostor, 
 and liar, false to all men and women, false 
 to himself; in that keen suffering awoke 
 within him the soul which had till now 
 slept. 
 
130 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE morning of the great Newport picnic 
 dawned bright and clear, and the hearts of 
 all the happy people who were privileged to 
 join the exclusive and aristocratic affair were 
 much lighter than they had been on the pre 
 vious evening, when the weather looked very 
 dubious. No heart so light, though, as that 
 of Mr. Gray Grosvenor, the prime mover in 
 the picnic, the man in whose brain the 
 idea had at first originated, broadened, and 
 finally emerged in the complete and perfect 
 plan. 
 
 Mr. Gray Grosvenor was a very prominent 
 man in Newport society, more prominent 
 than Mr. Belhomme, though he was not 
 nearly so rich. He was more courted even 
 than Mrs. Fallow-Deer, though he "did 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 131 
 
 not entertain," and her hospitable doors 
 were opened every day in the week to some 
 guest or guests. 
 
 Larkington, now well established in so 
 ciety by his month s stay in Newport, had 
 quickly seen that Gray Grosvenor was a man 
 to whom, for some reason, every one was 
 extremely deferential and polite. He was 
 evidently a man to be treated with great 
 consideration ; and the Englishman had 
 taken the cue, though what claims this gen 
 tleman had to an over-punctilious politeness 
 from society he had been at a loss to dis 
 cover. He danced wonderfully well ; that, 
 of course, made him popular with the ladies; 
 but then there were others who tripped as 
 lightly the measures of Terpsichore, and had 
 withal figures more suited to the graceful waltz 
 than was the stout and roundabout body of 
 Mr. Gray Grosvenor. 
 
 Larkington had asked Mrs. Craig confi 
 dentially to tell him all about this gentle 
 man, by whom he had been considerably 
 
must give up all hopes of entering the inner 
 circle of Hades, for which read society. 
 He is the man who can cut your name from 
 the list of a subscription ball, can keep you 
 out of any club he belongs to, if he happens 
 not to fancy the cut of your dress-coat or 
 the way you wear your moustache. He 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 133 
 
 holds, beside this, another position, that 
 of a sort of gentleman caterer. It is a unique 
 office, I think. He gets up all the assemblies, 
 and arranges the menu of the supper, as well 
 as the list of subscribers. He is willing to 
 do this sort of work for society, and on the 
 whole society is grateful to him, as no one 
 else would give the time, pains, and trouble 
 to it. Though he is in a sense the servant 
 of society, inasmuch as he serves it, he is also 
 its ruler, and he is courted from fear, if from 
 nothing else, like the French king with the 
 little leaden images in his hat. Gray Gros- 
 venor s images are of gold, and not of lead." 
 
 " One sees that you do not like the gentle 
 man, Mrs. Craig?" said Larkington. 
 
 " Like him ? Why should I ? Because I 
 come from Baltimore, and he does n t happen 
 to know anything about me, he leaves me 
 out of his picnic. I not only dislike him, 
 but I have been praying solemnly for the 
 last week that it might rain on the day fixed 
 for his fete, and spoil it all." 
 
134 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Count Clawski, who was in these days the 
 devoted slave of the pretty Mrs. Craig, 
 joined the two, who were sitting where we 
 first saw them, in the long balcony of the 
 Casino. 
 
 " You are speaking of the picnic, madam," 
 said the diplomate, whose calm and punc 
 tilious manner was for the nonce upset. He 
 looked angry and excited. " Par bleu, I will 
 not go, if it rains or shines." 
 
 " I heard you had ordered a wonderful vol- 
 au-venl at Hartman s for your contribution," 
 said Mrs. Craig. 
 
 "lie asks me, this man," continued the 
 Count, notwithstanding Mrs. Craig s re 
 marks, " to subscribe for his picnic, to bring 
 a dish, and a bottle of wine ; and when I say 
 to him, * Now, I will a lady with me bring, 
 he says, * Excuse me, I must ask you to send 
 her name in for the approval of the com 
 mittee ! Committee indeed ! I never heard 
 of any but that of Mr. Gray Grosvenor him 
 self ; it is to me an insult. Should I bring 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 135 
 
 any lady that he or his committee might not 
 be proud to receive? " 
 
 Notwithstanding the prayers of Mrs. Craig, 
 the day of the picnic, as has been said, 
 dawned bright and clear. 
 
 Gladys -Carleton, as she stood for a mo 
 ment on the balcony outside of her room, 
 looking down into the shrubberies, smiled 
 with pleasure at the splendid mass of color 
 which lay below her. The rose garden, in 
 its full blush of summer loveliness, was 
 splendid with a glory of new-bloomed roses, 
 whose petals were fast unfolding to the 
 ardent gaze of their great golden lover, the 
 sun. It was very early for Gladys to be 
 about, scarcely seven o clock, but she had 
 not slept very well, and so, throwing a loose 
 wrapper about her, she had stepped out upon 
 her little balcony and stood looking out on 
 the fresh beauty of the earth. 
 
 For once she was not thinking of herself 
 or her own beauty, which was, perhaps for 
 that very reason, the fairest thing in all the 
 bright picture. 
 
136 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Over across the rose-beds where the flowers 
 nodded a gay good-morning to her, stretched 
 the green lawn, which ran sloping down to 
 the cliffs, at whose foot the waves murmured 
 with a kindly melody. 
 
 No other sound was in the land, and in 
 the sea no motion save for the white arms of 
 a youth who was swimming by leisurely, and 
 who slackened his strokes and looked up at 
 the balcony, which showed him a woman 
 who was young and graceful, the distance 
 not allowing him to guess more. 
 
 Gladys looked at the swimmer, and thought 
 how graceful were his motions, and how 
 much the boyish head of gold hair and the 
 white, supple, strong limbs, shining through 
 the green waters, added to the scene. It 
 brought human life into what had been be 
 fore but an empty background ; it made her 
 feel that of all the grand things in the world, 
 man may be the grandest. Why did the 
 face of Charles Farwell seem to look at her 
 from the green waves ? If it had been 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 137 
 
 Farwell she could not have seen him, and 
 she knew him to be a thousand miles away. 
 And yet, when the youth out there, lying in 
 the cool water, raised one arm and waved a 
 greeting to her, she answered it involuntarily, 
 and then, remembering for the first moment 
 herself, standing out in the broad daylight in 
 her wrapper, her hair streaming about her 
 shoulders, her little rosy feet bare, she gave 
 a startled cry and sprang back into her room, 
 blushing hotly though no one was there to 
 see. 
 
 Her maid came to her in half an hour, 
 bringing the morning mail. She was sur 
 prised to see that one of the letters bore the 
 handwriting of her cousin, Amelia Carleton, 
 who was still at Lenox. The first part of 
 the letter she glanced through carelessly, but 
 the last paragraph fixed her attention; she 
 read it slowly, and afterwards sat looking at 
 it abstractedly. 
 
 " I hear that your last conquest is the good- 
 looking Englishman we met driving that day. I 
 
138 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 have asked Lady Carew, who is staying here, all 
 about him. He is the son of Lord Lucre, she tells 
 me ; she knows his family well. It is, as you know, 
 an excellent one in point of position ; and this 
 young man is better off than most younger sons, 
 for he has his mother s whole fortune, which is 
 something very handsome. The elder brother has 
 epilepsy, will never marry, and your friend is sure 
 sooner or later to succeed to the title and estates. 
 Lady Carew says it will probably be sooner, for 
 his brother is not expected to live long. Now, if 
 things have gone as far as I suppose they have, my 
 solemn advice to you, Gladys, is to marry Mr. 
 Larkington. He is the sort of man best calcu 
 lated to make you happy, as he brings all the 
 things you need most, money, an assured posi 
 tion, and in time a title. My dear, take the advice 
 of a lonely woman, an old maid, and do not hesi 
 tate. You have grown, as I did before you, too 
 difficile. It is the curse of American girls with 
 beauty or money, that they have so many chances 
 to marry. They discard this one for one fault, 
 that one because he lacks some certain virtue ; in 
 fine, they end by expecting to find a paragon, 
 which shall unite all the virtues and be without 
 any of the faults of manhood. Of course they 
 don t find him, and they remain unmarried and 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 139 
 
 unhappy. I am opening my heart to you, child, 
 though it hurts me more than you can guess, be 
 cause I would warn you from the mistake which 
 has made my life cold and empty, my nature hard 
 and the world says selfish. You know I always am 
 ready to keep my promise of giving you the trous 
 seau and the wedding. I should so like to give 
 a house-warming and wedding at once. The 
 house will be ready in a fortnight, when I shall 
 take possession of it." 
 
 This letter seemed to change the face of 
 nature to Gladys. She saw no beauty now 
 in sea or sky, the sunshine even seemed to 
 have grown cold, and she began to dress 
 slowly and absently. 
 
 She sat down at her toilette glass,, placed 
 where the most searching light fell upon it, 
 and, leaning her head upon her hand, pro 
 ceeded to study with great care the image 
 which the faithful mirror showed her. She 
 looked older, ten years older, than she had 
 done when she stood on the balcony with a 
 smile on her lips. The thought which drew 
 hard lines about her mouth, and marked her 
 
140 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 forehead with two strait dints, had come only 
 with her cousin s letter. She took her silver 
 comb (she would have liked a golden one) 
 and parted the thick soft hair on her left 
 temple. Yes, there they were, those first 
 terrible finger-marks of time. White hairs 
 a few, half a dozen, perhaps just in this 
 spot flecked the dusky mass of hair. No one 
 knew of their existence but Gladys and her 
 maid. The Abigail assured her that they 
 were the result of some knock she must have 
 given her head, for only in this spot was 
 there one to be found ; but Gladys refused 
 to console herself with this hypothesis, and 
 accepted the warning which they gave her of 
 the instability of beauty and the flight of 
 time. 
 
 For a quarter of an hour she sat motion 
 less, her eyes fixed upon her own shadow, 
 and in that space she reviewed all her past, 
 looked her present in the face, and weighed 
 the possibilities of the future, quietly, coolly, 
 and methodically. She put aside the rose- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 141 
 
 colored illusions in which women wrap their 
 thoughts of themselves to their very selves, 
 and looked, for once in her life, at the hard 
 plain facts of her existence. 
 
 She had passed her first youth, girlhood 
 was behind her, and at twenty-five she was a 
 woman. Her beauty was still at its height, 
 but it must wane, and the waning must 
 begin before long. She had not so many 
 chances open to her of changing her name 
 as she had had last year, and every twelve 
 months the chances would grow less and 
 less. She had that very week walked as a 
 bridesmaid before a bride whose bridegroom, 
 a year previous, had declared himself desolate 
 and broken-hearted at her refusal of his suit. 
 He had consoled himself in so short a time 
 with a pretty chit of eighteen, with pale, 
 pleading blue eyes, and no figure at all ! 
 The constancy of man ! But there was Cid. 
 Did he still love her? She doubted it. He 
 had never told her so since her return from 
 Europe, though he had had many chances 
 
142 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 to do so. Then his abrupt departure from 
 Newport without one word of farewell, be 
 yond the Ait, revoir written on the card 
 which came with a bunch of red roses. Did 
 not that imply that he did not wish to see 
 anything more of her ? Perhaps he had 
 seen how things would go between herself 
 and Larkington, and wished to prove that he 
 did not consider himself as a pretendant for 
 her hand, so left the ground clear for the 
 new suitor. It seemed more than likely. 
 It was rather unkind of Cid, though ; but 
 did she deserve anything better from him ? 
 She grew quite red as she asked herself the 
 question. And on seeing the flush mount 
 to her forehead in the mirror, she sprang to 
 her feet, angry and defiant, at war with 
 herself, and with a bitter cry against the 
 cruelty of fate, in her heart. 
 
 She dressed herself not the less with great 
 care, and chose the dark blue gown in which 
 Larkington had first seen her at the Casino, 
 and which he preferred to any other of her 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 143 
 
 dresses. She was going to the picnic, and 
 had half promised to drive out with the 
 Englishman. She knew, with the unfailing 
 instinct of a woman, that if she drove with 
 him to-day, she would be asked the most 
 serious question which man can put to 
 woman. For a week past he had tried to 
 see her alone, he had sought for an opportu 
 nity to speak the words which she was not 
 ready to hear, and she had with a hundred 
 artifices, so skilful that he had not perceived 
 them, put off the decisive moment. 
 
 She breakfasted, or made a pretence of so 
 doing, with Mrs. Fallow-Deer in that good 
 lady s boudoir, a charming little room, 
 hung in sea-green silk, and furnished in 
 veritable antique carved wood. 
 
 As Mrs. Fallow-Deer sat in a high-backed 
 chair, pouring tea from a classic urn, a fear 
 ful and wonderful pyramid of laces and rib 
 bons placed on the summit of her poll, 
 Gladys looked at her and sighed deeply. 
 This, then, was the end of it all. The kind 
 
144 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 soul who sat opposite her had been a beauty, 
 too, in her day, but what trace was left 
 of her lost graces ! She sighed again, at 
 which unusual sound Mrs. Fallow-Deer put 
 down her teacup and, looking searchingly 
 at Gladys, said slowly and solemnly, 
 
 "My dear, it is my private opinion that 
 you are in love." 
 
 Gladys laughed. " I wish I were," she 
 cried half bitterly, half in jest. " Like Pa 
 tience, I am quite ignorant of the sensation 
 of the tender passion. I have never been 
 in love." 
 
 "That is nonsense, my dear; however, it 
 is a nonsense that all girls talk, and I sup 
 pose I can t expect you to be wiser than 
 your kind. But seriously, my child, are you 
 not thinking a good deal about somebody ? " 
 
 " Yes, but that somebody is myself." 
 
 " Of course it is always so with a girl 
 who has no business to be a girl any longer. 
 I have had something of your experience, 
 Gladys, and my advice ought not to be value- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 145 
 
 less to you. I did not marry until I was a 
 year or two older than you, and was heartily 
 sick of myself, and of thinking about myself, 
 and of all the shadowy joys and triumphs 
 I was supposed to enjoy. Now, you have a 
 heart, and were meant to love (as was I) 
 something and somebody besides yourself. 
 Suppose the man whom you marry is not 
 your young ideal ; what of that ? All men 
 are troublesome comforts, but it s a great 
 thing to have a companion of your own 
 time, whose interests are one with your own, 
 and who will go with you through life. My 
 dear, it is very dreary to sit over the embers 
 alone. Husbands are at best a good deal 
 of a trial, but then the compensation comes 
 in one s children. I am a woman who has, 
 as you know, experienced a great deal and 
 enjoyed many things, but the comfort and 
 pleasure I have had in my boys outweighs 
 all the rest of the goods of my life beyond 
 comparison. But I suppose you can t under 
 stand that." 
 
 s 
 
 10 
 
146 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Gladys had not sat patiently during this 
 homily, but had moved uneasily about the 
 room, looking first out of the window and 
 then into the cream jug on the table, as if 
 to find some help there. Everybody seemed 
 to be against her and in league with Lark- 
 ington, for she knew perfectly well to what 
 all Mrs. Fallow-Deer had said pointed. Even 
 Charlie, his absence from Newport was in 
 itself a sanction to her encouragement of 
 Larkington. 
 
 A servant entered, bringing a great bunch 
 of deep gold yellow roses for Miss Carleton, 
 and a note in an already familiar hand. It 
 was from Larkington, asking her if she 
 would drive with him to the picnic. She 
 stood still and silent for one awful moment, 
 during which it seemed to her that the whole 
 of her life hung in the balance. Should she 
 go, or not? She sat down at the writing- 
 desk, took up a quill, examined its point 
 carefully, took out a sheet of paper, dated it, 
 wrote, " Dear Mr. Larkington," and had not 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 147 
 
 yet decided whether the next phrase should 
 be one of refusal or acceptance. 
 
 The letter meant so much more than a 
 mere invitation to drive ; if she accepted it, 
 she knew the results. Could she? The for 
 bidding face of Amelia Carleton, once as 
 handsome and attractive as her own, rose 
 before her, hard, unyielding, frozen, and ex 
 pressionless ! " I will go with pleasure," were 
 the words she wrote, and, signing herself as 
 " Cordially yours," she despatched the note, 
 and then, going to the glass, spent the next 
 ten minutes in fastening the breast-knot of 
 roses which Larkington had sent her, over 
 her slow-beating heart. 
 
 The pin with which she fastened the roses 
 she noticed was one of Herr Goldzchink s 
 minor presents, which, when the others had 
 been sent back to her discarded German 
 lover, had been overlooked, and had only 
 been discovered the week before in a drawer 
 of her jewel-case. 
 
 On the hand which held the roses to her 
 
148 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 breast was one small old ring. It was of 
 very little value, and had cost Charles Far- 
 well the first score of dollars he had earned, 
 all those years ago. She smiled a little sadly 
 as she looked at the ring, and then kissed it 
 and slipped it off from her finger. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 149 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MR. LARKINGTON stood looking anxiously 
 from his window, on the morning of the all- 
 important day of Mr. Gray Grosvenor s pic 
 nic. That gentleman himself, passing by 
 and catching a glimpse of Larkington s rather 
 gloomy face, nodded reassuringly to him, as 
 if to say that the little cloud which had just 
 floated before the face of the sun did not 
 mean anything. The weather would not 
 think of doing so ill-judged a thing as to 
 interfere with one of Mr. Gray Grosvenor s 
 fetes. So on passed the great man, wrapped 
 in a mysterious vision of the new mode of 
 cooking macaroni with madeira sauce, and 
 the effect it would have upon the experienced 
 palates of Mr. Belhomme and Mrs. Fallow- 
 Deer. 
 
ISO A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Larkington s anxiety had no reference to 
 the weather, or to the prospects of the picnic, 
 but was centred in the small and dainty billet 
 which his quick eye already detected in the 
 hand of Stirrups, who appeared on the hori 
 zon, bearing down for the hotel. 
 
 Stirrups, a hideous little gnome of a groom, 
 was dressed in a neat and precise livery, and 
 walked gravely and composedly up to the side 
 entrance of the hotel, giving a glance at the 
 small window in the third story where he had 
 rightly expected to see Larkington s face. 
 
 He passed through the hall and up the 
 first flight of stairs with the slow and conde 
 scending step which these gentlemen of the 
 rumble affect when they are obliged to touch 
 the vulgar earth with their feet, being used to 
 be carried by the swiftest steeds and driven 
 by the fairest of ladies. In the upper corri 
 dor he saw no one, nor on the stairs above 
 or below, and at once, losing the grand air 
 and his slow step, he ran up the next two 
 flights, taking three steps at a time, and 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 151 
 
 rushed, without knocking, into his master s 
 apartment. Breathless he thrust the letter 
 into his hand, and stood panting, his eyes 
 fixed on Larkington s face. 
 
 The master, without noticing the uncere 
 monious entrance of the man, tore open the 
 note, glanced at its contents, and, flushing 
 with what he read, cried aloud, 
 
 " It s all right, Stirrups ! By Jove ! I was 
 
 nervous, though. What the kept you 
 
 such a time ? Without waiting for an 
 answer, Larkington continued : " Now we 
 have n t more than time. I must be there at 
 twelve o clock. Bring the trap up and look 
 sharp. Remember you are to be missing 
 when the break-up comes. I shall stay till 
 the last." 
 
 Stirrups did "look sharp," and at twelve 
 o clock precisely the wheels of Mr. Larking 
 ton s dogcart crunched along the gravel 
 driveway which led to Mrs. Fallow-Deer s 
 house. Gladys heard the sound and it made 
 her shiver. 
 
152 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
 That summons thee to heaven or to . 
 
 Not a very pretty place to talk about," she 
 cried, as she rose slowly from her seat in 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer s morning-room. 
 
 " What an odd girl you are, Gladys ! Well, 
 good-by. I shall be out, tell Gray Grosvenor, 
 by half-past one. Make him wait luncheon 
 till I come. Don t forget your dish of cro 
 quettes, nor the champagne ; they are all 
 packed in a basket in the hall. Are you 
 warmly enough dressed, child? How pale 
 you look ! Give your cheeks a little rub, so ! 
 That s better. Now trot along, and remem 
 ber what I said to you at breakfast." 
 
 Gladys did look pale, and listless too, as 
 she stepped into the dogcart, steadied by Mr. 
 Larkington s hand ; but he thought she never 
 before had looked so lovely. There was a 
 shadow in the eyes, which were usually so 
 open and clear, without dissimulation or 
 consciousness. 
 
 Larkington was not quite himself either, 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 153 
 
 and the two people, who usually chatted like 
 magpies on the hundred light topics which 
 are the straws on which society conversations 
 are kept afloat, hardly spoke during the drive 
 to the picnic ground. 
 
 Stirrups, sitting behind with folded arms 
 and stony face, seemed to feel the constraint 
 of his betters, which he himself shared. 
 
 At the entrance of the Glen, the spot 
 chosen for the picnic, they encountered Mr. 
 Gray Grosvenor, who welcomed them cor 
 dially but hurriedly. He was one of those 
 hosts who cannot give themselves time to 
 welcome quietly the guests who have arrived, 
 but whose eyes and thoughts are forever wan 
 dering to the next comers, who may be of 
 more importance than the ones whom he is at 
 that moment greeting. 
 
 "Ah, how de doo, Miss Gladys? Ah, 
 urn, um, Larkington, delighted to see you. 
 Basket ? oh yes, um, yes, thanks, yes ; give 
 it to the waiter. Good of you, I m sure. 
 Yes, yes, you 11 find my sister in the Glen. 
 
154 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE, 
 
 Wait for Mrs. Fallow-Deer ? oh, um, yes, yes, 
 of course, of course." And he turned to 
 speak to some later arrivals. 
 
 Larkington drove down the picturesque 
 road which hangs over a miniature precipice, 
 with a miniature stream at the bottom, and 
 a large mill and mill-wheel, " as romantic in 
 its appearance as the one used in Sonnam- 
 bula at Her Majesty s," so Larkington said. 
 
 The road leads into a wide, open space, 
 with enough shade trees to insure coolness, 
 but without a trace of dampness. Long 
 tables were spread beneath the tall oaks, and 
 dainties of every kind loaded the boards. 
 
 The little brook ran babbling merrily by 
 on one side, but its melody was quickly 
 drowned in the loud strains of an orchestra, 
 hidden by a group of thick palm-trees, 
 brought out from town for the occasion. A 
 dancing pavilion with a smooth floor had 
 been built up during the previous day and 
 night, and was gayly decorated with flags, 
 Japanese lanterns, fans, and umbrellas. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 155 
 
 The Glen was in holiday dress, tricked out 
 with every art of the decorator and florist. 
 The lovely green turf, with its sprinkling of 
 fragrant pine-needles, might not touch the 
 silken-clad feet of the ladies, though, and 
 rich rugs were spread about to keep the deli 
 cate shoes from contact with mother earth s 
 fairest carpet. The very stems of the dig 
 nified oak-trees were garlanded with colored 
 streamers. They looked abashed at all these 
 trappings, the poor country trees, and rustled 
 uncomfortably at the incongruity of their 
 appearance. 
 
 Two great elm-trees stand side by side at 
 the lower part of the Glen, fair enough to be 
 the scene of the revels of the fairy queen, 
 and between their straight trunks one can 
 look out and see the river, or arm of the sea, 
 which washes the pebbly shore. But the 
 simplicity of the view and its quiet beauty 
 had evidently annoyed the perverted taste 
 of Mr. Gray Grosvenor or his assistants, 
 and an arch of sunflowers spanned the 
 
156 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 distance which intervened between the two 
 great trees, so that even that view was spoiled 
 to the few among the company who knew 
 and loved the Glen in its wild and natural 
 beauty. 
 
 Among those few persons who were not 
 so loud in praises of the " beautiful decora 
 tions" as the rest of the company were Mrs. 
 Craig and Count Clawski ! How they came 
 there, what power had been brought to bear 
 on Gray Grosvenor to induce him at the 
 eleventh hour to revoke his decision to leave 
 out the pretty little Baltimorean, Gladys was 
 not able to discover. But there she was, all 
 smiles and roses and dimples, as pretty a 
 creature in her rainbow draperies as was to 
 be seen on that bright summer morning. 
 
 The Count, who was something of an art 
 ist, was really a good deal disturbed by the 
 sunflowers and Japanese decorative knick- 
 knacks, which he affirmed would spoil his 
 appetite. 
 
 Mrs. Craig, who in heart had loved the 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 157 
 
 whole Jardin Mabille appearance of the place, 
 quickly took the cue from him, and said, 
 sotto voce, to Gladys, 
 
 " Shocking bad taste ; don t you think so, 
 dear?" 
 
 " I had not thought about it," said Gladys, 
 frankly. " There is perhaps a little too much 
 of it, but you know I am rather barbaric in 
 my taste and like all sorts of gay-colored 
 things." 
 
 The majority of the guests were of Gladys s 
 opinion, and on the arrival of Mrs. Fallow- 
 Deer the whole company some sixty souls 
 sat down to meat in high spirits and with 
 excellent appetites. Meat, did I say? Ay, 
 and to fish of every sort, and game, all that 
 there was in or out of season, shell fish, 
 too, from the beatific little neck clam to the 
 rubicund lobster, pates and game pies, galan 
 tines and roast fowls, Mayonnaises, Lyon- 
 naises, fryoriaiseys, mushrooms, jellies, ices, 
 blanc-manges, fruits, cakes, wines, cordials, 
 and finally, by way of a saving grace, coffee. 
 
158 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " I notice that the Americans have the 
 largest appetites and the worst digestions of 
 any people in the world," said Count Clawski 
 to his left-hand neighbor, Gladys Carleton. 
 
 The Count s appetite was missing on this 
 festive occasion, and it was owing to this fact 
 that he spoke so bitterly, and thought so bit 
 terly too, of the dinner last night at Mrs. 
 Craig s, where he had overeaten himself. 
 However, his ill temper was too small a 
 drop of gall in the cup of jollity of the com 
 pany to have any noticeable effect, and the 
 luncheon went off as gayly as possible. 
 
 Mr. Belhomme and Mr. Gray Grosvenor 
 toasted each other, and were more friendly 
 than they had been since their memorable 
 dispute over the best method of serving 
 chicken livers, which had interrupted for 
 two years a friendship of a lifetime. Society 
 agreed that it was better that they did make 
 the matter up, for it would be difficult to de 
 cide which of the two gourmets was the better 
 authority on chicken livers, as they both had 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 159 
 
 every reason to consider themselves connois 
 seurs in this particular dish. 
 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer tasted of nearly every 
 dish, and grew rosier and jollier at every 
 course. 
 
 Of all the guests there gathered, two only 
 seemed a little out of the general tone of 
 mirth and jollity, and these two were the 
 very ones in whom we have the most inter 
 est. Gladys Carleton was inclined to be 
 quiet and distraite, eating little, and that 
 little with nervous haste. Larkington s ap 
 petite was not so voracious as it might have 
 been, considering the fact that for the last 
 week he had breakfasted on a roll from the 
 bake-shop brought in surreptitiously by Stir 
 rups, and a cup of tea made over the gas- 
 burner by that same devoted individual, who, 
 as financial affairs grew darker for his master, 
 became more and more familiar with him, 
 and comforted by a touching devotion the 
 man to whom he was loyally attached. 
 
 The very rolls for the morning s scanty 
 
160 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 meal were bought with the gratuities which 
 Stirrups had received from various of his 
 master s friends, in compensation for some 
 slight services. The cigar which Larkington 
 had smoked on the morning of the picnic 
 had been given to Stirrups by Mr. Belhomme, 
 a week before, when he had taken a stone 
 from the hoof of that gentleman s horse. 
 The groom, foreseeing the not unprecedented 
 state of affairs which was approaching, had 
 put by the fragrant Havana, and on the 
 morning of the memorable picnic had laid 
 it beside Larkington s plate at his frugal 
 breakfast. 
 
 If the master did not make a good lunch 
 eon, the man, with glistening eyes, surveyed 
 the luxuriously spread tables, and chose the 
 various dishes which he would attack vigor 
 ously, when the time should come for him 
 and his fellows to gather up the fragments 
 of the feast. 
 
 At last it seemed to the hungry Stir 
 rups a very long luncheon Mr. Gray Gros- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. l6l 
 
 venor rose from his chair, and the worshipful 
 company of the elect had finished their mid 
 day repast, whose chief and greatest charm 
 had been that it had been eaten beneath the 
 canopy of God s blue sky, between the walls 
 of living green, and in the pure air, sweet 
 with the stacks of new-mown grass and clover 
 in the field hard by. 
 
 The sunflowers in stiff florist s garlands, 
 the colored paper gewgaws, were, to an over 
 sensitive mind, a discord ; but few among 
 the guests detected the inharmoniousness 
 of trimming, with art intended to be decora 
 tive, one of the most beautiful bits of nature 
 in the idyllic island. And there was not one 
 among them who was not made the better, 
 the more kindly, by that day passed among 
 the ferns and sweet-briers of Glen Anna. 
 
 The dance in the pavilion was rather a 
 failure. Somehow, the incongruity of the 
 little stiff town bouquets and the flimsy 
 favors seemed to strike most of the com 
 pany, and the cotillon only included the army 
 
 ir 
 
1 62 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 of veteran waltzers, grown old in the practice 
 of their favorite step, of whom Gray Grosve- 
 nor was the major-general. 
 
 The young people wandered off in groups, 
 some of them climbing the hill to get a 
 wider view. Others explored the damp and 
 mildewed granaries of the old mill, while 
 all to whom the seaboard was native were 
 drawn to the beach, where the wavelets gently 
 lapped the stony shore. 
 
 At the back of the narrow beach rises a 
 bank on which some charitable person has 
 placed a bench beneath the shadow of a 
 group of heavy shade trees. On this bench 
 Gladys and Larkington seated themselves, 
 and the girl, collecting a heap of flat pebbles 
 at her feet, tried to skip them across the 
 water. 
 
 Larkington watched her as she rose and 
 stood, intent on making her pebbles skip 
 three times ; she was so willowy and grace 
 ful, standing just beside him, touching him 
 with her dress, quite within his reach, that 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 163 
 
 he longed to stretch out his arms and clasp 
 the round waist, the graceful shoulders, the 
 charms which every line of the dark blue 
 dress outlined or concealed. 
 
 It would be so much easier, so much more 
 natural, to ask her then the question which 
 he knew he must that day ask her, when she 
 could guess, from the beating of his heart, 
 the meaning: of the words which mi^ht come 
 
 O D 
 
 incoherently ; if he could but once touch her 
 lips with his own, the frosty spell that held 
 him silent would be broken and he could 
 give words to the feelings which troubled 
 him. If he only dared they were alone 
 why not ? Why should he not woo her as he 
 had the flaxen-haired German girl who now 
 loved him as she had ever since the day 
 when they had first kissed in the shadow 
 of the Black Forest. Poor Frieda ! why 
 should he remember her, so long since de 
 serted, on this splendid day, when he sat at 
 the feet of another woman whom he loved 
 with the full force of his being ? 
 
164 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 The chill of the reminiscence, the cool look 
 in the eyes of Gladys Carleton as she stooped 
 to pick up another pebble, arrested his 
 arms stretched impulsively toward her. He 
 altered his attitude rather clumsily, and 
 sprang to his feet as if the gesture which she 
 had seen had been only an effort to steady 
 himself in rising. 
 
 o 
 
 But Gladys had both seen and understood 
 it, and after making a last and most success 
 ful toss of her biggest stone, she said, 
 
 " I think we had better go back now ; don t 
 you ? " 
 
 As they rejoined the party, the band was 
 striking up the music for a Virginia reel. 
 The long lines were formed upon the green 
 sward, and were headed by Mrs. Fallow-Deer 
 and Mr. Gray Grosvenor. 
 
 " Stand at the foot, Miss Gladys and Lark- 
 ington ! " cried the light-footed and lighter- 
 witted host. " Now then, off we go !" 
 
 And off they did go at a great pace, Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer dancing to Larkington, and Mr. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 165 
 
 Gray Grosvenor bowing to Gladys. Down 
 the long row of dancers that intervened be 
 tween the head and the foot, tripped the 
 young-hearted matron and bobbed a courtesy, 
 back again, and down once more to turn, 
 giving the right hand, then to favor Larking- 
 ton with the left. Then both pudgy hands 
 were offered to the long-limbed Englishman, 
 who could shake a foot in the reel with the 
 best of them. Her rotund back contrasted 
 with his sinewy outline in the dos-a-dos, and 
 then began the turning of the gentlemen. 
 First came the breathless dowager to Count 
 Clawski, who with a grave court bow turned 
 her slowly and sedately about, and returned 
 her to Gray Grosvenor, waiting for his partner 
 after having squeezed the pretty hand of Mrs. 
 Craig until her ring cut her finger. Mr. 
 Belhomme next hopped briskly about her 
 portly form, doing all the turning himself, 
 and again she returned to the charge of 
 Gray Grosvenor, who, after another turn, 
 relinquished her to her son, a graceless 
 
1 66 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 youth, who clasped his mother s waist and 
 whirled her off her feet. At last after many 
 adventures she reached the foot, exhausted 
 but cheerful, and the next couple had their 
 turn. 
 
 It was a grand dance, everybody said when 
 it was over, and Mrs. Fallow- Deer received 
 many congratulations on her brisk dancing. 
 
 Larkington s spirits had been raised to a 
 very high point by the dance, and a parting 
 bottle of champagne cracked with Count 
 Clawski failed to lower them. When the 
 time came for him to lift Gladys into the 
 dogcart, he felt equal to any feat of prowess, 
 even that of asking this tall proud girl if she 
 would be his wife, and accept the endow 
 ment of all his worldly goods, which at that 
 moment might easily have been packed in 
 his large portmanteau, in exchange for the 
 millions which he supposed to be her dower. 
 
 Gladys, too, seemed less like a statue than 
 she had been half an hour before by the sea 
 shore. Her pale cheeks were a little flushed 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 167 
 
 from the long fatiguing reel, her dark heavy 
 hair had become somewhat loosened, and 
 one perfumed mesh had escaped from the 
 comb which fastened it. 
 
 As Larkington helped her into the car 
 riage, the wind blew the soft tress against 
 his lips ; it felt like a caress, and he sprang 
 after her, taking the reins from the strange 
 groom who held them. 
 
 " I have lost my man ; it s a most extraor 
 dinary thing ; he is usually the most steady, 
 punctual creature. I am afraid that Mr. 
 Gray Grosvenor treated the coachmen too 
 well, and that Stirrups did not show himself 
 because he knew it would be better for him 
 not to be seen," said Larkington. 
 
 " I suppose you can manage the horses 
 for once without the moral support of your 
 groom, and, as a consoling thought, remem 
 ber that I am an excellent whip." 
 
 " If you can manage horses half as well as 
 you manage men, Miss Gladys, I would back 
 your driving against the field." 
 
1 68 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " I suppose you mean that for a compli 
 ment, Mr. Larkington, but, upon my word, 
 I do not consider it such. I have never 
 before been told that managing was one 
 of my characteristics." 
 
 " I did not mean that ; you are perverse, 
 but it does not matter. You look just as 
 lovely when you play at being cross as when 
 you are smiling. I wish you would always 
 wear that wreath of oak leaves on your hat ; 
 it makes you look so much more like the girls 
 at home, and so much less of a great lady." 
 
 Gladys did not quite understand this 
 speech. How could she fancy that Lark 
 ington, moved by a real feeling, had half 
 forgotten himself, and told her frankly what 
 was in his mind ? At the nutting parties in 
 the village where he had grown up, the girls 
 used all to wear these pretty chaplets on 
 their uncovered heads, when they came home 
 together, their tin pails filled with fruit, their 
 hands stained with the juices of the nuts. 
 
 A look of surprise in the girl s face showed 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 169 
 
 him what he had said, and, remembering the 
 business he had in hand, he determined to 
 plunge in medias res, and so, gathering all 
 his forces together, he said with a voice that 
 was not quite natural, 
 
 " Of course you must have seen how much 
 I am in love with you, Gladys, and I cannot 
 stand the uncertainty any longer ; will you 
 marry me ? " 
 
 Gladys thought, of all the proposals she 
 had ever listened to, they had been in 
 number exactly twenty-five, an average of 
 one a year for her whole life, this one cer 
 tainly was the most abrupt. But she had 
 been prepared for it, and with a sense of 
 thankfulness for the form in which the fatal 
 question had been asked, she said quietly, 
 her eyes fixed on the rumble of Mrs. Fallow- 
 Deer s carriage in front of them, 
 
 " Yes, I will." 
 
 For he had not asked her if she loved 
 him, and she had been spared the lie, which 
 her proud lips could hardly have spoken. 
 
I/O A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IT was exactly half-past five o clock on 
 Saturday afternoon when Gladys Carleton 
 pronounced those three words which made 
 Larkington for the moment consider himself 
 the most triumphant man in the wide world. 
 
 At exactly half-past five o clock on the 
 same Saturday afternoon, Charles Farwell 
 said to Mr. John Cartwright, his only com 
 panion, 
 
 " Jack, I must start for home to-night." 
 " You re not in earnest, Charlie ? " 
 " Yes, old man, in dead earnest." 
 " What has made you change your mind 
 so suddenly ? " 
 
 Charles Farwell was silent, and Cartwright 
 stood leaning against the damp wall of the 
 mine. The only light that showed the two 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. \Jl 
 
 men s faces to each other came from the 
 candles in their miner s hats. The feeble 
 rays lighted up a small space of the gallery 
 of the silver mine where they were standing, 
 and beyond, on either side, all was black 
 and dark. 
 
 It was not easy to recognize the exqui 
 sitely dressed New Yorker whom we left 
 at Newport, in the man sitting on a mound 
 of earth, dressed in a red shirt, corduroy 
 breeches, and top boots, all besplashed and 
 bemired with the dark mud of the mine. 
 He looked infinitely more original and indi 
 vidual in this dress, which showed his fine 
 well-knit body and strong limbs. His hair, 
 untroubled for the past six weeks by barber s 
 shears, had grown rather longer than Gladys 
 Carleton had seen it since his childhood, and 
 the curl had got the better of him, as it had 
 in those old days. 
 
 Jack Cartwright stood looking at his friend 
 with a puzzled expression. Farwell had come 
 to Leadville in answer to his telegram telling 
 
172 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 him of the new vein which he had found in 
 the mine which was their joint property, 
 and had remained ever since, working with 
 him, and making plans for the best running 
 of the mine, which Cartwright was sure 
 would make their fortunes. 
 
 They had been college chums, and the 
 friendship begun so early in life was a very 
 strong one. Cartwright had led a rolling- 
 stone existence during the ten years that had 
 elapsed since he had left college, and had cer 
 tainly gathered no moss. 
 
 Farwell, on the contrary, had led a quiet, 
 industrious life, working hard in a broker s 
 office in Wall Street, and making a comfort 
 able income for himself, with which he man 
 aged to do just twice as many charitable acts 
 as did his employer, a man whose fortune 
 was estimated by millions. 
 
 Just about a year before the date of the 
 despatch which had called Farwell to Lead- 
 ville so suddenly, Jack Cartwright had come 
 to him absolutely without means of subsist- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 173 
 
 ence, but full of visions of a great fortune he 
 could realize if Farwell would supply him 
 with the capital to buy a certain Leadville 
 claim which Cartwright was persuaded would 
 prove to be a mine of riches. The man who 
 owned the claim was not of the same san 
 guine mind, and so Cartwright got it for a 
 mere song, Farwell paying the piper. With 
 varying small successes Cartwright had 
 worked the claim until the discovery of 
 the rich vein of ore. Farwell had, since his 
 arrival, summoned the aid of several mining 
 experts, and had finally satisfied himself of 
 the real value of the property, which he had 
 always considered worthless, as did every 
 one else except the hopeful Cartwright. Once 
 sure of the solid value of the mine, the next 
 requisite step was the forming of a company 
 to work it, and it had been decided that 
 Cartwright should go to New York, and 
 make all the necessary arrangements for the 
 starting of such a company, while Farwell 
 remained in charge of the "claim." 
 
174 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 The two friends had been making a tour 
 of inspection through the deserted galleries 
 of the mine, which were so soon to be filled 
 with a crowd of toiling miners, when Farwell 
 suddenly announced his intention of return 
 ing to the East. 
 
 Receiving no answer to his last question, 
 Cartwright asked again somewhat more em 
 phatically, 
 
 " What the deuce has put such an idea into 
 your head, Charlie ? " 
 
 " You did not hear any sound, I suppose, a 
 minute ago ? " said Farwell. 
 
 " No. What was it like ? " 
 
 "It was the sound of a woman s voice, and 
 it called my name. No, Cartwright, I did not 
 suppose that you had heard the voice ; but I 
 did. It was the voice of the woman I love ; 
 she called to me in distress. I must go to 
 her." 
 
 He rose as he spoke, looked into the dark 
 ness dreamily, and then walked with a quick, 
 determined pace down the gallery, Cartwright 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 175 
 
 following him, more and more amazed by the 
 words of his friend. It was not like Far- 
 well, this sort of thing ; he could not under 
 stand it, and, thinking the close air of the 
 mine might have affected his head, he took 
 his friend by the arm, and they soon were 
 out of the dark, damp, underground region, 
 where thousands of human beings are con 
 demned to pass the greater part of their lives 
 in toiling for treasures for other men to 
 waste, out into the pure air of the splendid 
 September day. 
 
 Their eyes, accustomed to the darkness of 
 the mine, were dazzled by the light, and Far- 
 well shaded the too sudden glory of the sun 
 shine with his hand. In the vast open plain 
 where they found themselves were many 
 works, some of them deserted and dilapi 
 dated, others with every sign of busy min 
 ing life about them. The rude buildings 
 which stood at the mouth of their mine 
 were fallen into a lamentable state of unre 
 pair, but to the sanguine eyes of Cartwright 
 
176 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 they were already repaired and in good con 
 dition. 
 
 In the little office, the one room which 
 boasted a whole roof, were collected all Cart- 
 wright s worldly possessions, and into this 
 apartment he led the way. Farwell stood 
 leaning against the door-post, his eyes fixed 
 on the wonderful scene spread before him. 
 Across the wide plain, two miles distant, lay 
 the city of Leadville, a straggling town, at 
 this distance picturesque, outlined against the 
 high mountains which lie beyond it, rough, 
 inaccessible, and grand. The clearness of 
 the atmosphere in this country is most decep 
 tive, and the sun-tipped range of hills seemed 
 within easy walking distance. The summits, 
 which earlier in the day had been dazzling 
 white, were now touched into a soft rosy 
 color by the warm reflection of the sunset 
 tints, and the sky had softened to a dim and 
 tender blue, more restful to the eyes than the 
 intense and vivid color of mid-day. 
 
 " Well, Charlie, we must be off if you are 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. I// 
 
 in earnest about starting to-night," said Cart- 
 wright, as he unhitched the bridle of his mus 
 tang. Farwell nodded an assent, and mount 
 ing their horses the two friends rode off across 
 the arid plain, whose soil produces nothing 
 but a few scraggy fir-trees, and the short 
 grayish grass so common in mining districts. 
 
 As Farwell rode through Chestnut Street, 
 he said with a half-sigh, 
 
 " Jack, I am sorry to go, for some reasons. 
 I have not been here Ions: enough to feel the 
 
 o o 
 
 monotony which must come, I suppose, and 
 I still am bound by the novelty and freshness 
 of the existence here. There is a vigor and 
 youth about the country which we in the 
 East have lost already ; before we have grown 
 to our prime, we are old." 
 
 "Yes," said Jack; " remember tins is the 
 boss mining camp of the world that you are 
 turning your back upon, because of an echo 
 in the mine that you fancy is the voice of 
 some woman. It s not like you, Charlie, to 
 be so deuced fanciful." 
 
 12 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " Is n t it ? Well, I don t know. I may 
 come back, Jack, and become a pioneer of 
 the new State, a leading man in Colorado ; 
 but I doubt it. If the voice did not call me, 
 if she tells me she did not want to see me, 
 then I shall be back as soon as the business 
 can be settled. But if it was the voice of 
 Gladys Carleton, you will have to manage the 
 mine by yourself, and I will take care of the 
 city interests. I suppose you and I will be 
 called rich men in a month s time, Jack ? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose we will, if you don t get 
 muddled by hearing any more of these ech 
 oes," said Cartwright, peevishly. " I don t feel 
 altogether satisfied to have the matter in your 
 hands ; are you sure your head s all right ? " 
 
 Farwell laughed, and answered more briskly 
 than he had done since he had heard the 
 echo in the mine. Seeing that his friend 
 was really concerned about his wits, he pro 
 ceeded to discuss the prospects and the busi 
 ness arrangements they had decided upon in 
 his usual clear manner. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Before the two men parted that night, 
 Cartwright was quite satisfied that it was for 
 the best that he should remain, and his 
 partner make the necessary journey to New 
 York. 
 
180 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE journey from Leadville to Cheyenne 
 is not without interest, nor did it so prove to 
 Charles Farwell. To all intelligent travel 
 lers there is much to be learned in the course 
 of a long journey, both from observation of 
 the country through which they pass, and in 
 conversation with their fellow-travellers. 
 
 At Cheyenne, the point where the great 
 transcontinental railroad crosses the local line 
 of travel, Farwell arrived early one Septem 
 ber morning. Awaiting the advent of the 
 Eastward-bound train forty or fifty men were 
 assembled at the small wooden station-house. 
 Every variety of costume was worn, from the 
 conventional suit of American morning dress 
 to the picturesque garb of the Mongolian. 
 Long-haired, red-shirted herders conversed 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. l8l 
 
 familiarly with gentlemen whose clothes 
 might have been forwarded them to this 
 remote spot by Poole. A Mexican rancher o 
 with a wide sombrero and high boots paced 
 up and down the narrow plank platform, talk 
 ing earnestly with a smart-looking man of 
 the Teutonic race. 
 
 From the scraps of their conversation, 
 Farwell gathered that the Mexican was con 
 sulting the German professionally, on the 
 subject of his wife s health. Farwell learned 
 from a loquacious Jew, a commercial travel 
 ler who entered into conversation with him, 
 that the Mexican lived fifty miles distant, 
 and had ridden over to procure medicine for 
 his ailing wife from the medical practitioner 
 of Cheyenne. The same obliging personage 
 gave Farwell brief sketches of the most 
 prominent of the individuals who stood 
 about the platform, leaning against the sta 
 tion or sitting on the steps. 
 
 " That little fellow there with the red beard 
 is an Englishman ; calls himself at home Lord 
 
1 82 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 Archie Alvesworth, at Cheyenne he drops 
 the title. He owns a great cattle ranch, ten 
 miles from here, which he manages himself. 
 He has lots of friends visiting him, and they 
 have a pretty gay time of it at his shanty." 
 
 " Who is the old man with the long white 
 hair ? " asked Farwell, pointing to a tall 
 figure wrapped in a long loose gray cloak. 
 
 " That is the Frenchman. He is rather 
 light in the upper story. That young girl 
 upon whose arm he is leaning is his daugh 
 ter. I can t tell you their real names ; they 
 have only been here a few months, and they 
 are a queer, silent lot. The old fellow fan 
 cies he has found a diamond mine, and he 
 and the daughter, with an old servant they 
 brought with them, are always searching and 
 digging for the wonderful mine that will 
 make their fortune." 
 
 The face of the Frenchman was that of an 
 enthusiast. The white hair and furrowed 
 brow were all the signs of age which he 
 showed. The bright eyes, alert step, and 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 183 
 
 the expectant expression of the face indi 
 cated a sanguine and volatile nature. The 
 girl who walked by his side had nothing re 
 markable in her appearance, save in the 
 pathos of her eyes, which haunted Fanvell 
 for months after. 
 
 Inside the comfortless w r ooden building 
 was a lon^ bare room which served for a 
 
 o 
 
 restaurant. Here all was bustle and hurry. 
 The keeper of the establishment was over 
 looking half a dozen men, who were arrang 
 ing the tables. His wife, a lank, raw-boned 
 New Englander, was making thick sand 
 wiches with heavy saleratus bread and large 
 wedges of ham, cut from a still smoking 
 joint. In an adjoining apartment the two 
 bar-tenders, in the lightest possible costumes, 
 were busy mixing drinks for the thirsty mul 
 titude of loungers. The grated ice rang 
 musically in the tumblers, and the sound of 
 the julep was pleasant to the ears of those 
 who were anticipating a refreshing draught, 
 while it recalled to those who had already 
 
1 84 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 partaken, the agreeable sensation of the cool 
 liquid trembling down the parched throat. 
 
 It was terribly hot. Even the dogs seemed 
 to suffer, for they crouched within the shadow 
 of the long building. The men bore the 
 extreme heat with resignation ; they spoke 
 on every subject of conversation save the 
 weather, as if by common consent this 
 topic was avoided. 
 
 A smart covered wagon drawn by a pair 
 of strong mules rattled up to the station. 
 From the vehicle a man descended, carrying 
 a child of two years of age in his arms. He 
 placed the little creature on the platform, 
 and turned to assist its mother from the 
 wagon. She was a healthy, strapping young 
 woman, dressed in a neat silk gown, and 
 wearing a bonnet which must have come 
 from New York. The husband made fast 
 his mules, and the couple entered the express 
 office, where they were hospitably received 
 by the agent. 
 
 " That man is Dick Parsons, the stage- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 185 
 
 driver. His wife is going to Maine to stop 
 with her folks. He came down to put her 
 on board the train." 
 
 Harwell s informant, as they passed the 
 door of the bar-room, made a slight pause, 
 as if more from habit than from any thought 
 of entering the room. Farwell, who had 
 been too much absorbed in watching the 
 motley crowd of people, and listening to 
 the brief but comprehensive accounts of 
 them given by his new friend, to remember 
 the etiquette of the country, took the gentle 
 hint, and invited his new acquaintance " to 
 take something." The invitation was ac 
 cepted, and the two men entered the bar 
 room. 
 
 The commercial traveller and the bar 
 tender exchanged a wink as the stranger 
 ordered for himself a plain lemonade. The 
 Ganymede of Cheyenne station was rather 
 a sinister-looking fellow, with one eye. His 
 right hand boasted a thumb and two fingers 
 only, but the airy skill with which he tossed 
 
1 86 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 the icy fluid from the tin tumbler to the glass 
 one showed that this physical defect did not 
 unfit him for his profession. 
 
 As the commercial traveller drained the 
 last drop of his whiskey cocktail, a faint 
 rumbling was heard along the rails, and a 
 few moments after the Eastward train came 
 in sight. Every car window had an ear 
 nest face behind it, and the platforms were 
 crowded with the passengers, who hardly 
 waited the stopping of the train, to dash 
 into the restaurant, where the preparations 
 for dinner were now completed. Farwell 
 entered the room with the crowd, and 
 watched the already familiar sight of the 
 hungry beings vainly endeavoring to satisfy 
 themselves with the indifferent food provided 
 for them. 
 
 There is bad management somewhere. 
 Whose fault is it? The prices charged by 
 the railroads are so high, that the traveller 
 has a right to demand comfortable meals at 
 a just cost The patience of the American 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 187 
 
 people is phenomenal. They are plundered 
 by railroad corporations who neglect their 
 comfort, and whose parsimony often endan 
 gers their lives ; and they bear this patiently, 
 not even, save on rare occasions, making 
 the public complaints which are to be found 
 against like abuses in every issue of the 
 " London Daily News." 
 
 " It is a great virtue, patience," sighed 
 Farwell, as he left the table where his healthy 
 appetite had been somewhat appeased by a 
 plate of cold pork and beans and a bottle 
 of warm beer. His cigarette consoled him 
 for his bad dinner, and he paced up and 
 down, looking at the various people from 
 Cheyenne and its vicinity who, in his two 
 hours waiting at the station, had so greatly 
 interested him. The young French girl had 
 made friends with one of the passengers, a 
 mother who had four children tagging about 
 her. She was carrying the youngest of 
 these, while the woman and her other chil 
 dren walked up and down, stretching their 
 
1 88 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 cramped limbs. The English lord was talking 
 to the engineer of the train, an intelligent 
 Scot ; and the stage-driver was introducing 
 his pretty wife to the Pullman-car conductor, 
 an important personage in the society of the 
 Pacific Railroad. 
 
 This half-hour s chat with the officials on 
 the train, and those among the passengers 
 who are desirous of deriving information or 
 willing to impart the latest news from either 
 coast, is one of the most important events in 
 the day to many of the dwellers by the iron 
 roadway. This link betwixt them and the 
 civilization in which there was no room for 
 them lessens immeasurably their sense of 
 isolation. 
 
 But now the whistle of the engine warned 
 the travellers that the time had come when 
 they must again take up the thread of their 
 journey. 
 
 Farwell bade farewell to the commercial 
 gentleman, thanking him for his information. 
 He stepped upon the back platform of the 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 189 
 
 rear car, and looked his last upon the little 
 desolate station and its crowd of habitues. 
 
 The old French gentleman was already 
 climbing into a rickety vehicle, while his 
 daughter unfastened the hitching-rein. The 
 stage -driver was waving a last adieu to his 
 wife and his little child, wailing at the grief 
 of a first parting. Inside the restaurant its 
 proprietor was seen locking a cash-box which 
 had been filled at the cost of the pockets and 
 digestion of the travellers. The one-eyed 
 bar-tender was the only member of the group 
 of people who was still busy, and his skilled 
 fingers tossed a red liquid from the tin to 
 the crystal tumbler accurately. His task was 
 never done, day or night. 
 
 On sped the train, and in a brief space 
 Cheyenne station was lost to view. 
 
 As the day waned, the intense heat moder 
 ated, and the passengers on the Eastward 
 train revived a little from the wilted condi 
 tion they had experienced. They could look 
 out now over the wide plains of sunburnt 
 
1 90 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 prairie, whose lines were broken at rare in 
 tervals by the farm of some courageous set 
 tler. Near one of these green oases the train 
 stopped for some trifling repair. Farwell, 
 standing upon the platform, looked with in 
 terest at the well-built adobe house and out 
 buildings, the green trees, and the well-planted 
 garden. The group of cattle, the dogs, and 
 feathered creatures of the barnyard were the 
 only friends whose company the family of 
 this settler could claim. The grounds were 
 enclosed by a curious fence of woven twigs ; 
 wood and stone are materials little used on 
 these frontier farms, owing to the great 
 difficulty and expense of transporting them. 
 
 What heroism is shown by these men and 
 women, who taking each other by the hand 
 turn from the luxuries of the Eastern civili 
 zation and go out to conquer the savage 
 luxuriance of the West ! Courage, patience, 
 self-reliance, must he possess who would 
 succeed in this struggle for wealth in the 
 Western wilderness. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. IQI 
 
 As night drew near, trains of emigrants 
 were passed, three or four wagons usually 
 travelling together, for mutual protection. 
 The great white-hooded vehicles, drawn by 
 heavy cattle, moved slowly along. The 
 family, with all their household goods, are 
 packed away in the wagon, which is almost 
 invariably attended by a pair of dogs and sev 
 eral cows. It is a weary road which they 
 must travel over. Long lines of nodding sun 
 flowers at intervals mark out the path of the 
 overland trail. 
 
 To Farwcll their golden beauty was an 
 intense pleasure ; he asked a fellow-traveller 
 how they came to be so regularly planted, 
 and learned a curious fact from the man whom 
 he had questioned. 
 
 In the early days when Brigham Young 
 and his fellow-prophets led out the band of 
 saints to the New Jerusalem of Salt Lake 
 City, across the wide prairies, many hard 
 ships were endured. In that first almost 
 heroic journey the emigrants suffered se- 
 
192 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 verely from the want of fuel. Young, on his 
 return to the East, provided himself with 
 enormous quantities of the seeds of the sun 
 flower, which the second band of emigrants 
 sowed by the way, for the benefit of the 
 next party of deluded fanatics who should 
 be enticed from their homes by the wily 
 prophet. The path over which the Mormons 
 passed is marked by a golden line, and the 
 camp-fires of the emigrants to-day are lighted 
 by the fibrous stalks of the sunflowers which 
 the Mormon saints sowed forty years ago. 
 
 When they reached the station where 
 supper was awaiting the travellers, Farwell 
 decided not to venture a second time that 
 day into a railway restaurant. From his 
 capacious lunch-basket he drew rations of 
 crackers and cheese, with a bottle of claret. 
 His never-failing comfort, the cigarette, was 
 the only light save that of the stars, as he sat 
 in his favorite place on the rear platform. 
 
 As the train sped on once more through 
 the night, Farwell sat thinking of Newport, 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 193 
 
 and all that might have happened there since 
 his departure. He wondered if Gladys had 
 missed him, and then he smiled at the 
 thought. He knew that she must have 
 grieved over his departure. He knew that 
 she loved him now; he had never doubted 
 it since that night when they rode home 
 together through the sweet country lanes of 
 Newport, the very evening before his depart 
 ure. Then he thought again, and with a 
 sudden pain, of her voice as he had heard it 
 calling him, heavy with distress, full of pas 
 sionate entreaty. What could it have meant ? 
 If any ill had befallen her, he certainly would 
 have learned it by telegraph. He was com 
 ing to her now with all the speed of steam 
 and iron, yet the journey seemed so long! 
 
 The dark prairie was all about him, be 
 fore, behind, on either side, and the train 
 sped on rapidly. Suddenly, far off, a spark 
 of light broke the blackness of the night. It 
 grew brighter and clearer, as the train ap 
 proached it, and he now saw that it came 
 
 13 
 
194 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 from a fire. Not a chance flame lit by 
 a wayward spark, but a neatly built camp- 
 fire, cheerful and comfortable. The flames 
 crackled about a gypsy kettle, and shone on 
 a great white wagon standing tenantless by 
 the wayside. The tired oxen were lying 
 near by, their noses hidden by their bags of 
 fodder. A group of people sat at a short 
 distance from the blaze, just where their 
 figures were lighted by the flame. A woman 
 seated on the ground, an infant in her arms, 
 looking up into the face of the man who 
 stood behind her, erect, and in the uncertain 
 light seeming to be of a heroic build. These 
 three, all alone in the midst of the vast prai 
 rie, with hope for their guide, and love for 
 their companion. This was a home, though 
 the next evening would see the trio far on 
 their journey, and the kettle would swing 
 over a fire some twenty miles nearer its final 
 destination. 
 
 For one moment was the life picture before 
 Farwell, warm, happy, full of a deep signifi- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 195 
 
 cance, and then the train carried him past it 
 away into the night. The cheerful blaze 
 grew dim again in the distance, and finally 
 was lost in the darkness. The remembrance 
 of that camp-fire, and the group seen by its 
 light, remained with Charles Farwell when 
 many friends had been forgotten, in the 
 lapse of time. 
 
 At last the journey was accomplished, and 
 though it had been full of color and interest, 
 it was with a feeling of intense relief that 
 Charles Farwell stepped from the train at 
 Jersey City. Five minutes later, our travel 
 ler found himself on the ferry-boat which 
 conveys the passengers from the railroad ter 
 minus in Jersey to the metropolis of New 
 York. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, and Farwell, 
 standing in the open part of the boat, looked 
 out over the busy scene which spread itself 
 on either hand. The tangle of the shipping 
 spread across the heaven like an enormous 
 cobweb. The cool, green waters of the bay 
 
1 96 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 were churned into a hundred streaks of white 
 foam by the furrowing paddle-wheels of the 
 ferry-boats which ply to and fro between the 
 great centre and its outlying dependencies. 
 The boats themselves were laden with such 
 dense crowds of human beings that it seemed 
 impossible to fancy that there were any men 
 and women left in the city. 
 
 On reaching the landing, Farwell, giving 
 his checks to the minion of the express, 
 mounted the stairs of the Elevated Railroad. 
 He entered the train, and in a breathless 
 haste was whirled up town by that wonder 
 ful line of travel which hangs, like the coffin 
 of Mahomet, twixt earth and heaven. It 
 had never struck him before that the Elevated 
 Railroad was a particularly noticeable feature 
 of New York. After his sojourn in Colo 
 rado, every detail which goes to make the 
 vast convenience of the city of Manhattan 
 impressed him. 
 
 " We are too civilized," sighed our traveller, 
 as he stepped from the train at the Twenty- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 197 
 
 third Street Station. As he walked down 
 the long flight of stairs, he smiled at the 
 thought which passed through his mind. He 
 had invented a plan for transporting the pas 
 sengers of the Elevated Railroad up and 
 down the long stairs which lead to the sta 
 tions by means of a slide, in the very moment 
 when he had protested against the ultra con 
 venience of the Elevated Road. 
 
 At Delmonico s the great dining-room was 
 crowded with the same set of people he had 
 left dining there on the night when he 
 had started for Leadville. After Farwell had 
 ordered his dinner with a certain care, it 
 was many weeks since he had dined, he 
 leaned back in his chair and looked about 
 the brilliantly lighted apartments. 
 
 At the table on his right sat Hewson, the 
 coolest speculator in Wall Street. His 
 shadow, Hangon, a man triple his size, had 
 just given his directions to the servant for 
 dinner. The speculator looked careworn, his 
 thin face was flushed, and his hand shook as 
 
198 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 he raised his glass to his lips. The client 
 Hangon addressed some remark to the great 
 man, who answered him shortly and rudely. 
 The face of the mighty parasite flushed at 
 the rebuff, but his vexation was cooled and 
 soothed in the beaker of wine which he 
 drained at the expense of his patron. 
 
 Presently Hewson spoke, rapidly and 
 earnestly. Farwell could not hear the con 
 versation, but he doubted not its import. A 
 heavy fall in stocks had shaken the market 
 that morning, and the evening paper hinted 
 that Hewson, the great stock-gambler, had, 
 in the phrase of the street, " gone up." The 
 next day would prove how the fall in the 
 stock market had affected him. 
 
 Had the prediction of failure been with or 
 without foundation ? Farwell wondered, and 
 watched the operator closely. He was a 
 keen observer of character, and he had a 
 reason for wishing to ascertain whether 
 Hewson had lost or gained in the day s 
 gambling. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 199 
 
 The eager face of the financier wore its 
 usual anxious expression. The lines about 
 the nose were rather deeper than usual, 
 and his hands fidgeted nervously with his 
 bread. His appetite was not so good as it 
 had been on the occasion when Farwell had 
 last observed him, but the unusually hot day 
 might account for that. 
 
 Farwell enjoyed his dinner. After the 
 long period in which he had lived on the 
 most ordinary diet, the well-cooked dishes of 
 the c/ief\vere very agreeable. He was some 
 thing of a Sybarite, and the few dainties 
 prepared by his order would have tempted 
 the most languid appetite. A certain pilaf 
 served with boiled truffles, made from a 
 receipt Farwell had obtained from a well- 
 known gastronome, attracted the attention of 
 Hewson from his own untasted dinner to 
 the table of his neighbor. Farwell noted 
 the look of interest in the tired face of the 
 speculator, and without a moment s hesi 
 tation directed the waiter to present the 
 
200 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 dish of pilaf to Mr. Hewson, with his com 
 pliments. 
 
 It was a happy move ; for the bored, worn 
 expression of Mr. Hewson s face changed to 
 one of pleasure, and the pilaf was fully appre 
 ciated by him. He ate it with evident en 
 joyment, and with nothing of the mechanical 
 manner which often characterized him while 
 at table. 
 
 Farwell now knew what he wanted to. 
 The speculator was still a " financier," and 
 had not made a false throw. While success 
 attends the great operators they are given 
 the high-sounding title of " financier." An 
 unsuccessful attempt at " a corner," or a 
 " rush " in stocks which beggars them, wins 
 them the title of "gambler," long ago de 
 served, but only granted when the game is 
 up. 
 
 From Farwell s knowledge of the charac 
 ter and manner of Hewson, the appetite with 
 which he ate the pilaf and truffles convinced 
 him that whoever else had suffered from 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE, 2OI 
 
 that day s operations, Hewson had escaped 
 unscathed. Once convinced of this fact, 
 Harwell s next action was to leave the dining- 
 room quietly and hurriedly. His movement 
 did not escape the keen eyes of his neighbor, 
 and while he was lighting his cigarette in the 
 outer hall, Hangon the parasite followed him 
 and asked him to join Mr. Hewson over a 
 bottle of famous old Burgundy. 
 
 Farwell returned to the dining-room and 
 joined the two men over their wine. They 
 asked him about his journey with a certain 
 curiosity as to its end. Farwell gave them a 
 humorous account of his trip, with a graphic 
 picture of the life and manners in the town 
 he had lately visited. He was an excellent 
 talker at all times, and this evening he seemed 
 at his best ; both men listened to him with 
 attention and interest. 
 
 Hewson, worn and wearied with the terri 
 ble ferment and worry of his life in the ex 
 citing atmosphere of Wall Street, was glad to 
 be taken out of himself and his own thoughts 
 
202 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 by this bright and magnetic young man, 
 whose slightly bronzed face and hands spoke 
 of a long absence from the city. Hangon, 
 tired with the long and close attendance 
 upon the peevish patron, was thankful at so 
 pleasant an addition to the tete-a-tete which 
 had lasted for several days. 
 
 When Farwell finally rose to go, the two 
 men followed his example, and the trio left 
 the restaurant in company. Mr. Hewson s 
 trap stood at the door awaiting him. 
 
 " Which way are you going, Farwell ? Can 
 I not give you a lift ? " 
 
 The offer was made in a manner which 
 showed that it was meant seriously, and not 
 out of compliment. 
 
 " Thank you. I am bound on rather a 
 wild-goose chase. I want to find Graball, 
 and I have no idea whether he is at his 
 house in Fifth Avenue or at Long Branch. 
 Do you happen to know ? " 
 
 " No. But get in and I will drive you 
 up to his house ; it is on my way. You will 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 203 
 
 look in this evening, Hangon, about eleven 
 o clock ? " 
 
 The mighty parasite nodded a reply, lifted 
 his hat, and with a sigh of relief at the two 
 hours of liberty granted him, walked off in 
 the opposite direction. Farvvell and Hewson 
 drove up the long wide avenue past the 
 empty houses with closed blinds. 
 
 " How utterly desolate the city looks ! 
 People are coming back later and later every 
 season." Farvvell was the speaker. 
 
 u It s not wonderful," answered his com 
 panion in his peevish, fevered voice. " How 
 can any one be anxious, or even willing, to 
 come back to this cursed city a day before 
 they are obliged to ? " 
 
 " How many days have you been out of 
 town this summer ? " 
 
 " Every Sunday, and on the Fourth of 
 July." 
 
 " You have taken no vacation ? " 
 
 " Not a day." 
 
 " How long is it since you have taken a 
 leave of absence from the city ? " 
 
204 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " Not since I had the typhoid fever, three 
 years ago." 
 
 " In all that time you have not missed a 
 single business day in the street ? " 
 
 " Not one." 
 
 For a few moments Farwell was silent. 
 He was registering a vow that he would 
 never allow himself to become so utterly 
 demoralized, body and soul, by the demon of 
 play, as was this poor nervous human being 
 at his side. Hewson s millions at that mo 
 ment numbered a score or more ; his name 
 was in the mouths of the whole army of 
 gamblers, by whom be was envied, admired, 
 and feared. It seemed to Charles Farwell 
 that of all the unhappy human beings with 
 whom he had been thrown in contact, Hew- 
 son, the great stock operator, was the most 
 to be pitied. 
 
 Mr. Graball was not at home, the flunkey 
 who answered the summons of the bell in 
 formed them. He had gone down to Long 
 Branch, and would not be back that night. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 205 
 
 Farwell was disappointed, or he appeared to 
 be so. 
 
 " Will you take a turn on the Park ? " 
 asked Mr. Hewson. 
 
 " Yes, thanks. Are you not afraid of 
 malaria ? I am so much braced up by my 
 long vacation that I should enjoy it, but is it 
 wise for you to run the risk ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I am used to it. Do you think of 
 returning to Colorado ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is possible. I have an interest in 
 a claim there. It was apropos of that busi 
 ness that I wanted to see Graball." 
 
 " Is he interested in the scheme ? " 
 
 " No ; but I need the backing of Graball, 
 or some such man, in the affair." 
 
 "Silver?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Who owns the claim ? " 
 
 " A man named Cartwright, and myself." 
 
 " You want a company formed ? " 
 
 " In which I shall retain the controlling 
 shares." 
 
206 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " Come round to my house and talk it 
 over. If it is a good thing, perhaps I will 
 take an interest in it." 
 
 This was what Farwell had hoped for. 
 Of all the men he knew who could help him 
 in the affairs of the Little Quickgain Mine, 
 Hewson was the best to deal with, notwith 
 standing his crusty manner. Farwell s was a 
 cautious, not over-sanguine nature, and he 
 was sure of the value of the mine, and was 
 moreover certain that he could convince 
 Hewson of its value, once having roused his 
 interest. 
 
 " Come to my rooms, if you will, Hewson. 
 I have the papers and certificates of ore ; 
 you can look them over there." 
 
 He knew the advantage of being on his 
 own ground, and preferred, in dealing with 
 this man, to be the host rather than the 
 guest. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 2O? 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " HALLO, Farwell ! When did you get 
 back, and how did you like Colorado ? " 
 The speaker was Mr. Gray Grosvenor; the 
 place, the piazza of the Redwood Reading 
 Room at Newport ; the time, just half-past 
 nine o clock on a September evening. A 
 cab had driven up to the door of this para 
 dise of fashionable loafers, and Charles Far- 
 well was paying the driver, when addressed 
 by Mr. Gray Grosvenor. 
 
 " I am just from the boat," he answered, 
 and joined his interlocutor on the piazza. 
 " I liked Colorado immensely. What s going 
 on in Newport ? I have not heard a word 
 from the place since I left it, nor seen a 
 newspaper." 
 
 "You hurried back for the ball, I sup 
 pose?" 
 
208 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " Whose ball ? I tell you, man, I m just 
 from the backwoods. I have not heard or 
 thought of a ball for many a day." 
 
 " Oh," said Gray Grosvenor, and was silent. 
 Strange chance that he, who was simply a 
 club acquaintance, should be the first person 
 to tell Charles Farwell of the ball given 
 that evening by Mrs. Fallow-Deer on the 
 announcement of the engagement of Miss 
 Gladys Carleton to Mr. Cuthbert Larkington. 
 
 " Where did you say the ball was ? " said 
 Farwell, lighting a cigarette as he spoke. 
 
 Gray Grosvenor hesitated for an instant. 
 Should he tell Farwell, who everybody knew 
 had always been in love with his cousin, the 
 news which he had evidently not heard ? 
 He had, somewhere about his stout person, 
 the vestige of an organ which in his youth 
 he had called a heart, and for an instant the 
 promptings of that organ hindered him from 
 speaking ; but the thought of being able to 
 tell people that he was the first one to break 
 the news to Farwell came to him, and, as 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 209 
 
 gossip was his profession, the chance of 
 adding so choice a morsel to his store was 
 too tempting to be lost, so he said slowly, 
 his eyes fixed on Harwell s face, 
 
 " Why, of course you have heard of the 
 new engagement, your cousin, Miss Carle- 
 ton, to Larkington, that English fellow ? 
 Well, everybody knew it a week ago, on the 
 day of the picnic, ah, what a pity you 
 missed the picnic ! but to-day it was offi 
 cially announced." 
 
 He paused and looked at Farwell as if 
 expecting a remark, and Farwell, having 
 nothing else to say, only answered, " Oh, 
 indeed ! " 
 
 Gray Grosvenor was disappointed ; he had 
 a right to expect something more than the 
 ejaculation of " Oh, indeed ! " It would not 
 sound very thrilling in the telling. But then 
 Farwell s face was a thing to describe ; it 
 had grown quite white and set. " And so," 
 he continued, " Mrs. Fallow-Deer is giving a 
 ball to celebrate the joyful occasion. You 11 
 
210 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 go, of course ? Everybody will be there, 
 quite the biggest affair of the season." 
 
 " No. I m not invited, I fancy. I came 
 back quite unexpectedly." 
 
 " But of course such an intime at the 
 house as you are would not hesitate to go 
 for the want of a card. Come along ! " 
 
 " Thank you, Grosvenor, I have some let 
 ters to write." And, throwing away his 
 unsmoked cigarette, Farwell walked into 
 the quiet library at the back of the Club. 
 It was empty, and, turning the gas low, 
 Farwell threw himself into a chair, his 
 back toward the door, and sat quite still 
 for a space. His face was deadly white, un 
 der all the bronze he had acquired on the 
 journey, and his forehead was lined with 
 three deep furrows as he sat, his head lean 
 ing on his hand, deep in thought. When 
 he moved at last, after a space of a quarter 
 of an hour, his first action was a very strange 
 one, and would have been considered by any 
 of the men of the Club as extremely repre- 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 21 1 
 
 hensible, had it been seen. Fortunately it 
 was not observed, for the room into which 
 he walked was quite empty, save for a pair 
 of sleeping figures in the two most comfort 
 able armchairs. 
 
 It was the Reading Room, and on the 
 tables lay piles of periodicals ; among others, 
 the New York afternoon papers, which had 
 not yet been unfolded, and which a servant 
 had that moment laid on the table. These 
 papers Farwell quietly took, and, folding 
 them into the smallest possible packet, put 
 them in the pocket of his light overcoat, 
 where was already a copy of the " Evening 
 Telegram," which he had bought on the 
 train, and read on board the Eolus, while 
 crossing from Wickford, the terminus of the 
 railroad, to Newport. 
 
 Leaving the Club, Farwell walked quickly 
 along the avenue, and turned down the street 
 which led to Mrs. Fallow-Deer s house on 
 the cliffs. He entered the grounds, with 
 which he was familiar, and walked to the 
 
212 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 back of the house, where he stood looking 
 through an open casement at the brilliant 
 interior. 
 
 The house- was an excellent one for enter 
 taining, though a trifle large and formal 
 to be quite comfortable for every-day use. 
 The spacious ballroom into which Farwell 
 looked was oblong in shape, the walls were 
 panelled in ebony half-way to the ceiling, and 
 the furniture was of massive carved wood. 
 " Veritable Antique " the old cabinet and 
 prie-dieu were, but sadly out of place in this 
 modern ballroom. The high throne-like 
 chairs had in their day been used by cardi 
 nals and bishops, for they were from an old 
 Episcopal Palace at Avignon, and the great 
 clock had ticked away hours devoted to 
 prayer in an Italian monastery. The som- 
 breness of the dark wood was redeemed by 
 the deep red color of the walls and the dull 
 gold ceiling, the crystal chandeliers from 
 Venice, the garlands of splendid roses, and 
 the living flowers, tricked out in all that was 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 213 
 
 most becoming and brilliant in toilettes and 
 jewels. 
 
 At one end of the room stood Mrs. Fal 
 low-Deer, resplendent in red satin and dia 
 monds, her sturdy arms almost bowed down 
 by the weight of the flowers with which she 
 was burdened ; at her side stood Gladys 
 Carleton, dressed quite simply in a gown 
 which Mrs. Craig rather spitefully charac 
 terized as " a white satin riding-habit." 
 
 It suited Gladys, who followed a fashion 
 of her own in dress, and paid little attention 
 to the " prevailing mode." She was as white 
 as her dress, that night, and her eyes and 
 hair seemed darker than ever, by the contrast 
 of her pallor. On a stand at her side were 
 heaped her bouquets, which, had she as 
 many arms as the Hindoo idol, she could not 
 have carried. 
 
 She was receiving with Mrs. Fallow-Deer, 
 and many were the good wishes and gallant 
 speeches made to her by the men and women 
 of the world, who were on the whole very 
 
214 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 glad of the piece of good luck which had 
 fallen to the beautiful Miss Carleton. 
 
 Gladys had all her life been petted and 
 spoiled by her rich friends, and had never 
 wanted for a good time, a fresh ball-dress, a 
 seat at the opera, or a saddle-horse. She 
 belonged to that class of young girls whose 
 position in society is much better than their 
 financial resources, and who for their beauty 
 or their charm are the enfants gat ees of New 
 York society. Instead of the spoiling which 
 a rich father and mother can give, they 
 enjoy the indulgence of a dozen foster 
 mothers and fathers, who from the kindness 
 of their hearts, or because they have no 
 daughters of their own and know the attrac 
 tion of a handsome girl in the drawing-room, 
 socially adopt them, and stand sponsor to 
 them from their first " season." For a very 
 young girl it is a charming thing, but for 
 a woman of Gladys Carleton s age and char 
 acter it was a position not without its 
 drawbacks, and her friends were all sincerely 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 215 
 
 glad that she was about to be established in 
 life so successfully. 
 
 Larkington, looking as flushed and radi 
 antly happy as Gladys should have looked, 
 stood near her, his eyes fixed intently on her 
 face, his whole expression rapt and exalted. 
 No one could doubt, in looking at the man, 
 that he was deeply in love. The face, which 
 had before lacked animation, and had been 
 characterized by Mrs. Craig as " stolid," was 
 now full of life and expression. All this was 
 marked by Charles Farwell as Jie stood out 
 side, his back turned to the slow-heaving 
 ocean, and his feet crushing the roses of the 
 garden that Gladys loved. He saw, too, the 
 entrance of Gray Grosvenor, and the bow he 
 made to Mrs. Fallow-Deer, watched him ap 
 proach Gladys, and fancied he could almost 
 hear him speak to her. He would tell her, 
 of course she started just then, and a 
 flood of color crept up her white throat and 
 spread over her cheeks and brow ; yes, Gray 
 Grosvenor had told her of his return. It 
 
2l6 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 was the first unconscious movement she had 
 made since he had been watching her, 
 that little start, and quick turn of the head. 
 She seemed to have grown restless, for in a 
 moment she laid her hand on Gray Grosve- 
 nor s arm, and disappeared with him out into 
 the square hall, where the crowd of butter 
 flies was thickest, and there he lost sight of 
 her. 
 
 It was a brilliant spectacle at which Charles 
 Farwell stood looking, with the copy of the 
 " Evening Telegram" in his pocket, but when 
 Gladys left the room, its chief attraction 
 had departed. It was rather chilly in the 
 night air, and, drawing a cigar from his 
 pocket, he was about to strike a match, when 
 he perceived that he was not the only out 
 side spectator of the scene ; a man of low 
 stature approached him and stood looking 
 in at the window next the one where he had 
 taken his stand. Farwell did not care to be 
 seen, so he quietly put back his cigar in the 
 case, and the match in his pocket, and drew 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 2\J 
 
 back into the shadow cast by the angle of 
 the bay window. 
 
 He could still see the interior of the ball 
 room, and, as he looked, he saw a servant 
 approach Larkington and whisper something 
 to him. The Englishman looked a little 
 puzzled, bowed an assent, and after a mo 
 ment or two, excused himself to the lady he 
 was talking with, and left the room. The 
 man at the window seemed interested in the 
 movements of Larkington, and, as he left 
 the ballroom, slipped quietly out of sight, 
 disappearing around the corner. 
 
 A moment after he returned, and this time 
 he was not alone. The tall figure of Lark 
 ington made that of his companion appear 
 even smaller and more puny than before. 
 They approached the spot where Farwell 
 was standing, hidden by the dark shadow. 
 
 " Here," said the small man who, Farwell 
 now saw, wore the livery of a groom, " stand 
 here ; on the other side of the house there s 
 a crowd of people looking in at the doors 
 and windows." 
 
218 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " Well, Stirrups," answered his companion, 
 sharply, " why did you send for me in this way ? 
 Could n t you wait till after the ball ? " 
 
 " No. I m just back. Jacob would n t 
 let me have the money." 
 
 " D Jew ! Why not ? " 
 
 " Because, Cuthbert, you ve made a mis 
 take somehow or other. It s the wrong girl ; 
 this one," nodding toward the ballroom, " is 
 the cousin of the heiress, and has n t a penny 
 to bless herself with." 
 
 " It s a lie," cried Larkington, catch 
 ing at the arm of his servant for support. 
 " The Jew deceived you." 
 
 " It s certain truth, Cuthbert, as I took 
 pains to find out. It s her cousin, an old 
 maid, wot s got the money, and no mistake 
 about it. I made dead sure." 
 
 Larkington s only answer was a groan, and 
 Stirrups continued, 
 
 " We must be off on the early boat for 
 Fall River ; it passes at two o clock. I have 
 packed the traps at the hotel, and will get 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 2IQ 
 
 the portmanteau down somehow by myself 
 after the house is quiet. You must not re 
 turn there, but must go straight to the 
 wharf." 
 
 11 Stirrups, I can t give her up," groaned 
 Larkington. " Money or no money, I am 
 crazy about her, and I will have her, if we go 
 to the poorhouse afterwards." 
 
 " There will be another place than the 
 poorhouse waiting you, Cuthbert, when those 
 bills come in. Brace up, old man, the game 
 is up. We have been in worse places and 
 pulled through afore, only we have no time 
 to lose." 
 
 " Stirrups, look here, I have made up my 
 mind. I will marry Gladys, take her home 
 to the old man, and confess the whole thing. 
 When he sees her, he 11 forgive me, and 
 make it all right again." 
 
 " And who 11 pay the parson and the trav 
 elling expenses ? You re crazy, as you say. 
 There s nigh a thousand dollars owing to 
 these sharks of Newport tradespeople. And 
 
220 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 there *s only ten dollars left, that I saved ; 
 just enough to take us out of this place to 
 New York. Once there, I 11 get a situation 
 easy enough, and float us both till something 
 turns up." 
 
 " I will borrow something from one of 
 these fine friends of Miss Carleton. I have 
 not borrowed a penny since I have been 
 here. I won t run, Stirrups ; that I swear. 
 I 11 marry Gladys Carleton if I blow my 
 brains out the week after." 
 
 The two men had spoken in undertones, 
 standing close together in the moonlight, but 
 their voices had reached the ears of Charles 
 Farwell, who disliked the role of eavesdropper 
 and now stepped forward and joined the 
 pair. 
 
 " If the excellent advice of your friend does 
 
 not decide you to leave Newport, Mr. , 
 
 I really am at loss for your name, I think I 
 have an argument which will prove more per 
 suasive to you than any he has brought for 
 ward. Have the goodness to look over the 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 221 
 
 telegrams from Egypt." And, drawing forth 
 the copy of the New York evening paper, he 
 put it into Larkington s hand. 
 
 At the sight of Farwell, at his first word, 
 all Larkington s blague and assurance re 
 turned. " I do not understand you, sir," he 
 answered coolly, and, stepping nearer the win 
 dow so that the light from the ballroom might 
 fall upon the paper, he read the paragraph to 
 which Farwell pointed. It ran as follows : 
 
 "ALEXANDRIA, Sept., 1 882. In the engage 
 ment at Tel-El-Kebir to-day, there were twenty 
 men killed, and an officer in the 6oth Rifles wounded. 
 LATER. The officer who was seriously wounded 
 to-day is Captain Cuthbert Larkington, son of Lord 
 Lucre, of Oxfordshire, of the 6oth Rifles. His 
 recovery is doubtful." 
 
222 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GLADYS CARLETON woke early on the morn 
 ing after the ball, which had been, everybody 
 said, the great success of the season. She 
 could not sleep, as she usually did after a 
 party, and after tossing for half an hour rest 
 lessly on her bed, she rang the bell for her 
 maid, and stood looking out from the balcony 
 of her pretty room, as she had done that 
 morning on which she had promised to be 
 the wife of Cuthbert Larkington. It was 
 just such a morning as that had been, fresh, 
 clear, and full of sunshine. But it was of 
 another man than her fiance that she was 
 thinking, the man who had suddenly re 
 turned to Newport from Colorado, and whose 
 face she had not seen since she had become 
 engaged to the Englishman. Then she 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 22$ 
 
 thought, a little wonderingly, but quite in 
 differently, as she had the night before, of 
 Larkington s abrupt disappearance from the 
 ball ; he had not even said good-night to her, 
 he had probably felt ill. The thought did 
 not seem to disturb her peace of mind, how 
 ever, and she proceeded to make her toilet, 
 wondering the while what had brought Cid 
 back to Newport, wondering and half guess 
 ing. She hummed an old song, " We met, 
 t was in a crowd," and then sighed and 
 then laughed at herself for being sentimental. 
 
 The house bore the comfortless aspect 
 which always succeeds a ball, and, finding 
 the dining-room and parlors in the course of 
 being dusted and swept, Gladys stepped out 
 upon the green turf of the lawn, and walked 
 toward the rose-garden for a posy to put in 
 her belt. 
 
 " Who has been breaking the roses ? " she 
 cried angrily, though there was no one there 
 to answer her question. One bush which 
 yesterday had been covered with splendid full 
 
224 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 roses was broken, and the blossoms were 
 trampled into the ground. She stooped to 
 pick up one of the faded flowers, and saw a 
 crumpled newspaper lying close at hand. 
 
 " How careless people are ! " she ejaculated, 
 and was just stooping down to pick up the 
 paper when she heard wheels on the gravel 
 driveway, and looking round saw Charles 
 Farwell s trap coming up at a quick pace. 
 He drew up the horses at the sight of her, 
 and, giving his reins to the servant who had 
 come out at the sound of the wheels, joined 
 Gladys on the lawn. 
 
 " What brings you out and up at this hour, 
 Gladys ? it is not eight o clock yet," were his 
 first words, while he looked anxiously into 
 her face. 
 
 " Why, I might ask the same question of 
 you, Cid. How are you ? I am so glad to 
 see you." 
 
 " I forgot that I had not spoken to you 
 before. Have you seen Mrs. Fallow-Deer this 
 morning or anybody else ? " 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 22$ 
 
 " You forget how early it is ; no, I have 
 not seen anybody. If you came to see Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer, you will have to wait ; she may 
 come down at ten." She was piqued at his 
 queer, cool manner. 
 
 " No, I did not come to see Mrs. Fallow- 
 Deer, or anybody but yourself. Come and 
 take a drive with me." 
 
 " What ? Before breakfast ? " 
 
 " Yes ; are you so hungry ? We will drive 
 to Finley s and get some grapes. It is a per 
 fect day, and besides I want to see you, 
 Gladys, for a few minutes. Come." 
 
 " I should like to only I don t suppose 
 I ought I suppose you know, Cid " 
 
 " Oh yes, I know all about what has hap 
 pened in my absence. Run and get your hat, 
 child, and take a drive with me." 
 
 " Well, I will, Cid." She plucked a rose 
 bud from a bush which his careless feet had 
 crushed the night before, and held it out to 
 him, and then picked up the crumpled news 
 paper. 
 
 5 
 
226 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " What is that paper, Gladys ? Have you 
 been reading it ? " 
 
 " No. I cannot imagine who could be 
 careless enough to throw it on the lawn. 
 Put it in the basket in the library, while I 
 get my cloak/ 
 
 Farwell gave a sigh of relief. He put the 
 copy of the " Evening Telegram," which he 
 had dropped the night before, in his pocket. 
 She did not know yet, and he would be the 
 first one to tell her the mortifying truth. 
 
 They drove down Bellevue Avenue, and 
 out over Kay Street, stopping on the road to 
 buy some rolls at a bakery, and some great 
 bunches of black Hamburg grapes at a hot 
 house. Gladys laughed at her cousin, and 
 said that she really could wait till breakfast 
 time ; but Cid broke off for her tempting little 
 bunches of the fine grapes, and coaxed her to 
 eat a roll. He had a great idea of fortifying 
 the body before giving a shock to the mind. 
 How pretty she looked that morning, all 
 dewy and fresh as the wild flowers by the 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 227 
 
 road ! The cheeks which had been so pale 
 the night before were rosy now, and the line 
 of her mouth had grown tender again. He 
 found himself looking at her and forgetting 
 all that had happened since the afternoon 
 when he had lifted her from her horse, and 
 she had given the little tired sigh, like a child 
 glad to be taken up by loving arms. 
 
 " Do you remember the last time we came 
 over this dear old West Road together, Cid ? " 
 asked Gladys. 
 
 " Yes, it was the day before I started for 
 Leadville." 
 
 " Did you amuse yourself in Colorado, 
 Cid ? " 
 
 " Well enough ; but I did not go for 
 amusement. Here was the place where we 
 stopped and looked over at Fort Dumplings; 
 do you remember ? " 
 
 " Yes, and I do believe there is the very 
 same man ploughing in the field." 
 
 Then they were silent, and the fleet horses 
 carried the light carriage at a flying pace 
 
228 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 down the great hill at the two-mile corner. 
 The country was splendid with the glory of 
 the goldenrod, which lined the dusty road 
 side and spread like a great yellow cloak 
 over the fields, cut into squares like a chess 
 board by the crossing lines of the gray stone 
 walls. Some of the squares were deep green, 
 starred with purple asters ; others were of 
 the rich brown color of new-ploughed earth ; 
 many of the distant ones were yellow with 
 the harvested grain, and piles of deep red 
 gold pumpkins stood at the corners of the 
 fields. The air was sweet with the smell of 
 the wild grapes which clung to the porches of 
 the bare unpainted farm-houses. The beauty 
 of the complete and perfect year crowned 
 the fair earth, and the peace of the fruitful 
 harvest was over the land. The air was 
 fresh, and, though full of light and warmth, 
 had a cool tinge in it, that set the blood run 
 ning like new wine through the veins of the 
 man and woman who were so unreasonably 
 and unreasoningly happy, sitting, side by side, 
 behind the swift horses. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 2 29 
 
 On they went, past the quaint old gray 
 windmill on the left, whose four great white 
 arms slowly revolved in the light breeze. In 
 a little window high up in the quiet mill, 
 which Gladys said looked like a giantess s 
 thimble, they saw the miller s wife standing, 
 a rosy child on her strong shoulder. The 
 little creature waved its hand to the two in 
 the carriage ; he liked to see the horses and 
 their shining harness. 
 
 "Why did you call me, Gladys, that day? 
 A week ago yesterday afternoon, you called 
 me, and I heard you in the depths of the 
 earth, far, very far off; and now I have come 
 to ask you why you called me, on the very 
 day, they tell me, it was when you when 
 you had no right to think of any other man 
 than the man you had chosen." 
 
 " I did not call your name ; did you hear 
 my voice ? " 
 
 " I do not know if I heard anything with 
 my ears, but your spirit called to mine and 
 mine heard it ; do you not know this to be 
 true ? " 
 
230 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " Yes, Cid." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 She was silent, and looked away from his 
 tender eyes, over the fair landscape, and then 
 shivered at an ugly thought that came into 
 her mind. 
 
 " Shall I tell you why you called me ? " he 
 asked. She did not speak, but bowed her 
 head in assent. " Because you love me, 
 Gladys, with a love which is not of this 
 earth only; because your lower self tries 
 to ignore this love, and would do it an 
 outrage. Ah, child, you were in sore need 
 of me when that spirit, so long subordi 
 nate to your worldly self, sighed to mine for 
 help. I have come, and offer you that help." 
 He paused, and then continued : " Why was 
 it that at the last moment you threw over 
 that * splendid match and gave such pain 
 and mortification to that man in Germany ? " 
 
 " I could not marry him, Cid." 
 
 " And why ? Because you could not put 
 a barrier between our two souls, which have 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 231 
 
 felt the need so terribly one of another. We 
 are free agents, Gladys, you and I ; either of 
 us by our acts could can break the union 
 by which they are still bound. Would you 
 bargain with your soul, child, for the sake 
 of things which are of this world only, and 
 wrong your spirit, by a bond of the flesh 
 which would sever it from mine forever?" 
 
 The young man spoke earnestly and seri 
 ously, in a low voice, passionless and grave. 
 It was not with such words that in the old 
 days her boy lover had wooed her, and 
 Gladys looked at him wondering, and yet 
 understanding dimly all he said. 
 
 " If I should never see your face again, 
 Gladys, you would love me always ; do you 
 not know it ? " 
 
 "Yes, Cid." 
 
 They were silent again for a space, and 
 Gladys noticed the drooping willows before 
 the little gray farm-house, which with its 
 wide pasture-land, filled with great sleepy cat 
 tle, seems the scene which Corot must have 
 
232 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 thought of in some of the strange pictures 
 painted from a landscape seen only in a 
 dream. 
 
 Gladys looked up into the eyes of the man 
 at her side, which were turned half from her. 
 There was no emotion in his face ; he was 
 quite still and silent, neither pale nor red, but 
 with a far-away look of peace in his eyes, 
 which shed a calm on her fevered, world- 
 weary spirit. The quiet, still feeling which 
 she saw on his face was nestling at her heart, 
 and with the long, low sigh which shook her 
 breast, all its weight of care and trouble, all 
 the bitter littlenesses of her life, seemed to slip 
 away from her, and in that moment of peace, 
 full of a strange awe, the shadow of a love which 
 should last for eternity swept over her soul. 
 
 A bird s note, calling to its mate, fell upon 
 the quiet of the morning, and with the sound 
 came the awakening. Farw T ell s eyes, which 
 had been looking into the still blue of the 
 skies, turned to seek those of the woman that 
 he loved, who was so near him. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 233 
 
 " Well, Gladys, shall it not be to-day ? " 
 
 She knew quite well what he meant, but, 
 womanlike, evaded. "Why, what do you 
 mean, Cid ? " 
 
 " You know well enough, dear. Shall it 
 not be to-day that all the demons of pride 
 and worldliness which have kept us so long 
 apart shall be utterly routed ? Come, give 
 me your hand like a brave girl, and tell me 
 that you will be my wife before sundown." 
 
 " Cid, are you crazy ? " 
 
 " A little, perhaps ; but how sweet a mad 
 ness, is it not ? Better than the sanity which 
 I have so long known. Come, give me your 
 hand ; that means yes ? " 
 
 " O Cid, how can you ? It s wicked. 
 Think of them all, think of that man." 
 
 " That is just what I won t think of. 
 Gladys, I am in very deep earnest, much 
 more so than you can guess. I ask you, 
 dear, what may seem strange to you ; but 
 have you not all confidence in me ? I ask 
 you to come no\v to Fall River, why, we 
 
234 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 are half-way there already, and go to Cousin 
 Abel s house and ask the old fellow to marry 
 us. You know how gladly he would do it. 
 He made me promise, years ago, that he 
 should perform the ceremony which is to 
 make me the happiest man in the world. I 
 know all about the law. The license I can 
 get with his assistance in half an hour, and 
 little cousin Mary will stand as bridesmaid 
 to you in the parlor of the old house where 
 you first promised." 
 
 But to this hair-brained scheme the happy 
 girl would not listen, half because she loved to 
 hear him beseech her so earnestly, and partly 
 because, with her formal ideas, the whole 
 proceeding seemed well-nigh scandalous. 
 
 " What ! no wedding dress or cake," she 
 cried, " no reception, white slippers, or rice 
 thrown after us, no one to give me away ? 
 It would look as if I were afraid of my own 
 determination, and feared, if I did not marry 
 you right away, I should change my mind." 
 
 And the sorrels, brave creatures, still bore 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 235 
 
 the trap swiftly along, past Portsmouth, across 
 the middle road, and from the bold west side 
 of the island, over to the East Road, with its 
 wonderful panorama of river and islet, seen 
 from the high-road. Down Quaker Hill they 
 sped, through Newtown, and finally their 
 hoofs struck the timber of the Stone Bridge. 
 
 Gladys gave a little cry as she looked 
 down and saw the water beneath and behind 
 them. They had left the dreamy island, 
 " lying like an opal in a sea of sapphire." 
 Newport was behind them, and the wide 
 world before. At Tiverton they stopped, 
 and the horses were refreshed by a bucket of 
 cool water. To Gladys was no need of water 
 or of bread ; Farwell never even thought 
 about his cigar. 
 
 Gladys still protested that she would not, 
 but she did not ask her lover to turn the 
 sorrels heads towards Newport, and off they 
 started, the brave beasts, as fresh as if twelve 
 miles had not lain between them and their 
 stable. Gladys sang a little song, for the joy 
 
236 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 in her heart could not speak in words ; but as 
 the farm-houses were seen closer and closer 
 together, and the straggling outposts of the 
 town grew near, she became quite quiet, and, 
 slipping her hand into her lover s arm, looked 
 at him with eyes dark with a shadow half of 
 love, half of fear, the sweetest look that 
 woman s eyes can wear, the eyes of a bride. 
 
 " It was very strange that Gladys did not 
 come home to luncheon," Mrs. Fallow-Deer 
 said to Mrs. Craig, who had come round in 
 a state of wild excitement to tell the news 
 which the Egyptian telegram contained. 
 
 " So he was an impostor, after all," said 
 Mrs. Craig, after the two ladies had discussed 
 the matter for at least two hours, with the 
 assistance of Gray Grosvenor and Count 
 Clawski, who came to bring the latest news 
 about the strange affair, which was the talk 
 of the town. 
 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer had been genuinely 
 shocked, and had wept real tears for Gladys s 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 237 
 
 disappointment and mortification, for which 
 she felt herself in a measure responsible. 
 She had brought down the letter of intro 
 duction which the soi-disant Larkington had 
 brought her, and it was read by each and 
 every one of the friends who had come to 
 " talk it over." Now that she looked at it in 
 this new light, the letter was a very guarded 
 one, and the writer, an Englishman of more 
 illustrious name than character, asked leave 
 to present to Mrs. Fallow-Deer Mr. Cuthbert 
 Larkington, whose acquaintance he had had 
 the great pleasure of making on board the 
 Servia. 
 
 Count Clawski. who had befriended the 
 Englishman because he liked him, had 
 brought the last news of him. Going down 
 to the steamer to send off some important 
 despatches, he had encountered Larkington 
 on the gang-plank. The man had been too 
 much overcome to speak, and had grasped 
 the Count by the hand, and then staggered 
 into the boat, accompanied by his servant 
 
238 A NEWPORT ^AQUARELLE. 
 
 Stirrups, who had said, by way of expla 
 nation, 
 
 " My master has had some bad news, sir, 
 which takes him away unexpectedly." 
 
 It was all very strange, stranger that 
 Gladys did not come home ; perhaps she 
 had seen the news in the morning paper, 
 and had gone to her cousin Amelia s house 
 to pass the day, and avoid meeting Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer. 
 
 " Poor girl," cried that good lady at last, 
 when the final words had been said a hun 
 dred times on the exciting topic, and a hun 
 dred surmises made by Mr. Gray Grosvenor, 
 " I must really drive down to Amelia s and 
 find her." 
 
 It was three o clock, the luncheon had 
 protracted itself until a very late hour, and 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer, excusing herself from her 
 guests, rang for her carnage, and was just 
 preparing to start in quest of " the poor 
 deceived darling," when Charles Harwell s 
 card was brought up to her. 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 239 
 
 Into the great ballroom, which had lately 
 been the scene of Gladys s triumph, the good- 
 hearted matron went, trembling a little at 
 the interview before her with the only male 
 relative of Gladys who was likely to come 
 and ask her explanation of the unfortunate 
 affair. 
 
 There he stood by the mantelpiece, quite 
 composed and quiet, but with a face which 
 was bright with a light which had been miss 
 ing from the ballroom on the night before. 
 
 On the sofa sat a queer little old gentle 
 man with white hair and big spectacles, 
 whom Farwell introduced as "the Rev. 
 Abel Carleton, a cousin of Gladys s and of 
 mine." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Fallow-Deer ! she had been 
 distressed at the idea of meeting one indig 
 nant relative, and here were two. It was 
 almost more than she could bear, and, feel 
 ing that it was an occasion when a woman s 
 best card should be played, she pressed her 
 lace pocket-handkerchief to her eyes, and 
 
240 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 sobbed forth a broken greeting to the two 
 gentlemen. 
 
 " My dear madam," said the Rev. Abel, 
 gallantly, " pray do not cry. It is my duty 
 to break to you a piece of news." 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Carleton, I have already 
 heard of it," wailed Mrs. Fallow-Deer, " and 
 what can I say? No one can suffer more 
 than I, at this sad affair ; you certainly must 
 know how entirely I was deceived by the 
 young man." 
 
 " Indeed, ma am, I was not aware that you 
 had heard the news; but really, these tears, 
 this distress I cannot think, madam, that 
 they are indicative of your real sentiments." 
 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer bridled and dried her 
 tears. " Mr. Carleton," she said in her most 
 accentuated and dramatic manner, "I really 
 do not understand you, sir ; you seem in 
 clined to make light of this terrible this 
 mortifying affair." 
 
 " Well, well, my dear madam, that is taking 
 an extreme view of the case. It was without 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 241 
 
 doubt sudden and perhaps rash ; but, Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer, young folks are not so slow as 
 we old ones in their thoughts or in their ways, 
 and I thought sincerely that I was acting for 
 the best in helping the young man " 
 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Carleton ? 
 Farwell, I don t understand it," said Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer, faintly. 
 
 " The fact is, dear Mrs. Fallow-Deer, I 
 trust you won t be angry, but Gladys - 
 stammered Farwell. 
 
 " Well, what about Gladys ? Do you know 
 where she is ? I have not seen her to-day." 
 
 There was a little rustle, and from behind 
 a curtain Gladys appeared, blushing, con 
 fused, radiant. She looked neither at Charles 
 Farwell nor the Rev. Abel, but glided up to 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer, and, throwing her arms 
 about that good lady s neck, buried her head 
 on her tight-laced but motherly bosom, and 
 whispered, 
 
 " Dear, forgive us, but I am Charlie s 
 wife." 
 
 16 
 
242 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 L ENVOI. 
 
 In the early October days Newport is still 
 fair with a beauty tinged with sadness; the 
 prime of the year is past. In the long 
 crescent corridor of the Casino there is noth 
 ing of that gay throng of people we first saw 
 there. Where hundreds were wont to sit and 
 stare, walk and chat, only a dozen or two per 
 sons are to be seen scattered about. Among 
 these few " late " people we recognize some 
 faces on this October morning, whose ac 
 quaintance we first made in the merry month 
 of August. 
 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer, in the latest of Dono 
 van s imported costumes, and Mrs. Craig, 
 fresh as a rosebud, are sitting together, occu 
 pied for the moment in watching two people 
 who are walking across the green that leads 
 to the racket court. We can only see their 
 backs, but that carriage of the head could be 
 long to no one but Gladys Carleton we 
 beg her pardon Farwell, and the light 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 243 
 
 springing gait of the man at her side we have 
 seen before, in the deeps of a Lcadville 
 mine. They had returned, the two young- 
 people, from their " trip," and the nine clays 
 wonder of their marriage had been revived 
 and seemed likely to live as many more days 
 in the thoughts and conversation of the good 
 people of Newport. 
 
 " Does not Gladys look handsomer than 
 ever? " said Mrs. Fallow-Deer, warmly. 
 
 " Oh yes, she looks very well ; but don t you 
 think it s poor taste of them to come back 
 to Newport, where they have been so much 
 talked about, just now? " said Mrs. Craig. 
 
 " Indeed, no, or I should n t have asked 
 them to visit me. Why should they not ? 
 I myself am proud of the girl who I always 
 said had real heart, au fond. You knew that 
 she never heard that Larkington was an im 
 postor until a week after her marriage ? " 
 
 " I heard that Gladys said so," remarked 
 Mrs. Craig, with a vicious intonation of doubt 
 in her voice. 
 
244 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 " I know that she did not know about it," 
 rejoined Mrs. Fallow-Deer. 
 
 " Do you really believe that, dear Mrs. 
 Fallow-Deer? Well, it is refreshing to find 
 some one who is not sceptical in this day and 
 generation. I suppose you believe also that 
 Gladys did not know about Harwell s having 
 made that pile of money in the Little Quick- 
 gain Mine ? " 
 
 " My dear, I know she did not, for when 
 we talked it all over together that afternoon, 
 after she came back, and surprised me into 
 hysterics, she spoke quite seriously about her 
 having married a poor man. She had always 
 loved Charlie Farwell in a way, but she was a 
 queer girl, and the knowledge of her love for 
 him only came to her in its full force on that 
 day when they went off for the fatal drive. 
 She had loved him, but he had somehow 
 failed to say the right thing to her; he had 
 given her up too easily, before her heart was 
 really awake." 
 
 " But," interrupted Mrs. Craig, "if she had 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 245 
 
 not heard all about that horrid Englishman, 
 she never would have done so queer, so 
 utterly unheard-of a thing as to get up in 
 the middle of the night and steal away to 
 Fall River, to be married by dear knows 
 who, to a man that she might have married 
 six years ago. It was because she had not 
 the face to stand the mortification alone, that 
 she took up with Charlie Farwell, who really 
 deserves better treatment." 
 
 " Now, Minnie Craig, once and for all I 
 won t hear any more such spite about Gladys. 
 It was because Charlie would not be taken 
 as a pis aller, that he married her that morn 
 ing. He told her afterwards that if she had 
 not married him then, before she knew of 
 Larkington s being a humbug, and while she 
 thought Farwell to be a man of moderate 
 means, she never would have had another 
 chance. She never even knew there was 
 such a mine as the Little Quickgain, which 
 Charlie really only bought to help that queer 
 Bohemian friend of his, Cartwright, never 
 
246 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 dreaming that his bread would come back to 
 him toasted and buttered. Gladys married 
 a poor New York broker, while she thought 
 herself engaged to an English peer, just as 
 surely as if the real Cuthbert Larkington 
 had never been shot, and the false one dis 
 covered, and the Little Quickgain did not 
 stand at 275. To her the credit of such un- 
 worldliness belongs, and only envy can deny 
 it to her. It is not so often that we have a 
 love match in our set ; we had better make 
 the most of it, I think." 
 
 The good Mrs. Fallow-Deer, at heart warm 
 and kindly, spoke indignantly to the little 
 pretty fribble of a worldling at her side, and 
 Count Clawski noticed, as he joined the two 
 ladies, that some rather high words must have 
 passed between them, but he was too full of 
 his subject to keep it to himself, he had a bit 
 of news which he knew would be eagerly lis 
 tened to by them both. 
 
 " I have just heard the real truth about 
 our Englishman," he said, " in a letter from 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 247 
 
 my friend in London, to whom I telegraphed 
 to find out about him. His name is really 
 what he said it was, only he has not a right 
 to the Honorable, and he is not the son of 
 Lord Lucre. He is the son of a respectable 
 London retail haberdasher, of the same name 
 as Lord Lucre s family, Larkington, and, this 
 boy being born a short time after the son of 
 Lord Lucre, the mother thought it might 
 bring him good luck to give him the same 
 name as that of the Earl s son. His father 
 is a man of respectable position, but the silly 
 wife has had great notions of making a gen 
 tleman of her boy. She did not want him to 
 measure his betters for their socks, and so 
 raked and scraped together enough money 
 to keep him idle and floating about Europe, 
 as a gentleman of leisure. His groom was 
 his father s apprentice, and his great friend. 
 Lately there had been some row between 
 the father and son, and the two young men 
 started off for America." 
 
 Gray Grosvenor had joined the group 
 
248 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 while Clawski gave this sketch of the bogus 
 Hon. Cuthbert, and after listening intently 
 to all the fat diplomate had to say, he heaved 
 a great sigh of relief. No, Clawski had not 
 heard the last thing connected with the 
 strange affair, and his thunder was not stolen. 
 Rapturous thought ! As Gray Grosvenor 
 stood silent, a smile of superior knowledge 
 on his face, a warm complacency in his ex 
 pression, awaiting the recovery of his breath, 
 lost in the quick pace at which he had walked 
 from the racket court to the corridor, his eyes 
 fell upon a picture framed in the oriel of 
 black wood in the balcony of the racket 
 court. There, looking down at the group, 
 stood Gladys and her lover husband, smiling, 
 bright, and beautiful. What a contrast they 
 were, the Saxon-haired man, strong and 
 ruddy with health, and the graceful slender 
 woman with her white face and great dark 
 eyes ! For one moment they stood looking 
 down at their friends in the full sunlight, and 
 then Gladys waved a white hand, Farwell 
 
A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 249 
 
 lifted his hat, and they disappeared under 
 the shadow of the balcony. 
 
 As they were lost to view, Gray Grosvenor 
 gained his lost breath, and said, " Well, what 
 do you think the last extraordinary act of 
 that extraordinary young man is ? " Of 
 course they could not guess and begged to 
 be told. 
 
 " Why, the Far wells, passing through New 
 York on their return from their queer bridal 
 trip to Colorado, met Larkington in the 
 street, looking seedy, sick, and generally 
 broken up. Stirrups was with him, devoted 
 still, but the two of them were in a bad 
 plight. What does Farwell do, but pay the 
 passage of these fcvo rascals to Leadville, and 
 give Cartwright directions to find them 
 work in the mine, and let them have one 
 more chance at supporting themselves hon 
 estly ? What do you think of that ? " 
 
 Mrs. Craig sniffed and said, " It is not 
 surprising that the Farwells wanted the man 
 out of the way ; he might talk and say some 
 
250 A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 
 
 things which they would rather not have 
 heard." 
 
 Mrs. Fallow-Deer said nothing, but pressed 
 her handkerchief to her eyes, in which were 
 real tears ; she was rather hysterical that 
 morning, and was easily touched. 
 
 " Ah ! noblesse oblige" Count Clawski 
 was the speaker. For once the accomplished 
 diplomate forgot his careful English and 
 spoke feelingly in his native tongue. " Vrai- 
 ment, cest agir en grand seigneur" 
 
 THE END. 
 
 University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 
 
Messrs. Roberts BrotJiers Publications. 
 
 FAMOUS WOMEN SERIES. 
 
 GEORGE SAND. 
 
 BY BERTHA THOMAS. 
 One volume. i6mo. Cloth. Price, 1.00. 
 
 " Miss Thomas lias accomplished a difficult task with as much good sense as 
 good feeling. She presents the main facts of George Sand s life, extenuating 
 nothing, and setting naught down in malice, but wisely leaving her readers to 
 form their own conclusions. Everybody knows that it \vas not such a life as the 
 women of England and America are accustomed to live, and as the worst of men 
 are glad to have them live. . . . Whatever may be said against it, its result on 
 George Sand was not what it would have been upon an English or American 
 woman of genius." New York Mail and Express. 
 
 " This is a volume of the Famous Women Series, which was begun so well 
 with George Eliot and Emily I, route. The book is a review and critical analysis 
 of George Sand s life and work, by no means a detailed biography. Amantine 
 Lucile Aurora Dupin, the maiden, or Mine. Dudevant, the man led woman, is 
 forgotten in the renown of the pseudonym George Sand. 
 
 "Altogether, George Sand, with all her excesses and defects, is a representative 
 woman, one of the names of the nineteenth century. She was great among the 
 greatest, the friend and compeer of the finest intellects, and Miss Thomas s essay 
 will be a useful and agreeable introduction to a more extended study of her life 
 and works." Knickerbocker. 
 
 " The biography of this famous woman, by Miss Thomas, is the only one in 
 existence. Those who have awaited it with pleasurable anticipation, but with 
 some trepidation as to the treatment of the erratic side of her character, cannot 
 fail to be pleased with the skill by which it is done. It is the best production on 
 George Sand that has yet been published. The author modestly refers to it as a 
 sketch, which it undoubtedly is, but a sketch that gives a just and discriminating 
 analysis of George Sand s life, tastes, occupations, and of the motives and impulses 
 which prompted her unconventional actions, that were misunderstood by a narrow 
 public. The difficulties encountered by the writer in describing this remarkable 
 character are shown in the first line of the opening chapter, which says, In nam 
 ing George Sand we name something more exceptional than even a great genius. 
 That tells the whole story. Misconstruction, condemnation, and isolation are the 
 penalties enforced upon the great leaders in the realm of advanced thought, by 
 the bigoted people of their time. The thinkers soar beyond the common herd, 
 whose soul-wings are not strong enough to fly aloft to clearer atmospheres, and 
 consequently they censure or ridicu e what they are powerless to reach. George 
 Sand, even 10 a greater extent than her contemporary, George Eliot, was a victim 
 to ignorant social prejudices, but even the conservative world was forced to recog 
 nize the matchless genius of these two extraordinary women, each widely different 
 in her character and method of thought and writing. . . . She has told much that 
 is good which has been untold, and just what will interest the reader, and no more, 
 in the same easy, entertaining sty e that characterizes all of these unpretentious 
 biographies." Hartford Times. 
 
 Sold everywhere. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. 
 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers Publications. 
 FAMOUS WOMEN SERIES, 
 
 EMILY "BRONTE. 
 
 BY A. MARY F. ROBINSON. 
 One vol. 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
 
 " Miss Robinson has written a fascinating biography. . . . Emily Bronte is 
 interesting, not because she wrote Wuthering Heights, but because of her 
 brave, baffled, human life, so lonely, so full of pain, but with a great hope shining 
 beyond all the darkness, and a passionate defiance in bearing more than the 
 burdens that were laid upon her. The story of the three sisters is infinitely sad, 
 but it is the ennobling sadness that belongs to large natures cramped and striving 
 for freedom to heroic, almost desperate, work, with little or no result. The author 
 of this intensely interesting, sympathetic, and eloquent biography, is a young lady 
 and a poet, to whom a place is given in a recent anthology of living English poets, 
 which is supposed to contain only the best poems of the best writers." Boston 
 Daily A dvertiser. 
 
 "Miss Robinson had many excellent qualifications for the task she has per 
 formed in this little volume, among which may be named, an enthusiastic interest 
 in her subject and a real sympathy with Emily Bronte s sad and heroic life. To 
 represent her as she was, says Miss Robinson, would be her noblest and most 
 fitting monument. . . . Emily Bronte here becomes well known to us and, in one 
 sense, this should be praise enough for any biography. New York Times. 
 
 "The biographer who finds such material before him as the lives and characters 
 of the Bronte family need have no anxiety as to the interest of his work. Char 
 acters not only strong but so uniquely strong, genius so supreme, misfortunes so 
 overwhelming, set in its scenery so forlornly picturesque, could not fail to attract 
 all readers, if told even in the most prosaic language. When we add to this, that 
 Miss Robinson has told their story not in prosaic language, but with a literary 
 style exhibiting all the qualities essential to good biography, our readers will 
 understand that this life of Emily Bronte is not only as interesting as a novel, but 
 a great deal more interesting than most novels. As it presents most vividly a 
 general picture of the family, there seems hardly a reason for giving it Emily s name 
 alone, except perhaps for the masterly chapters on Wuthering Heights, which 
 the reader will find a grateful condensation of the best in that powerful but some 
 what forbidding story. We know of no point in the Bronte history their genius, 
 their surroundings, their faults, their happiness, their misery, their love and friend 
 ships, their peculiarities, their power, their gentleness, their patience, their pride, 
 which Miss Robinson has not touched upon with conscientiousness and sym 
 pathy." Tke Critic. 
 
 " Emily Bronte is the second of the Famous Women Series, which Roberts 
 Brothers, Boston, propose to publish, and of which George Eliot was the initial 
 volume. Not the least remarkable of a very remarkable family, the personage 
 whose life is here written, possesses a peculiar interest to all who are at all familiar 
 with the sad and singular history of herself and her sister Charlotte. That the 
 author, Miss A. Mary F. Robinson, has done her work with minute fidelity to 
 facts as well as affectionate devotion to the subject of her sketch, is plainly to be 
 seen all through the book." Washington Post. 
 
 Sold by all Booksellers, or mailed, post-paid, on receipt of 
 price, by the Publishers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON. 
 
MESSES, EGBERTS BEOTHEES PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 Jfamous (KBomen Series. 
 GEORGE ELIOT. 
 
 BY MATHILDE BLIND. 
 
 One vol. i6mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
 
 " Messrs. Roberts Brothers begin a series of biographies of Famous 
 Women with a life of George Eliot, by Mathikle Blind. The idea of the 
 series is an excellent one, and the reputation of its publishers is a guarantee 
 for its adequate execution. This book contains about three hundred pages in 
 open type, and not only collects and condenses the main facts that are known 
 in regard to the history of George Eliot, but supplies other material from 
 personal research. It is agreeably written, and with a good idea of propor 
 tion in a memoir of its size. The critical study of its subject s works, which 
 is made in the order of their appearance, is particularly well done. In fact, 
 good taste and good judgment pervade the memoir throughout." Saturday 
 Evening Gazette. 
 
 " Miss Blind s little book is written with admirable good taste and judg 
 ment, and with notable self-restraint. It do6 not weary the reader with 
 critical discursiveness, nor with attempts to search out high-flown meanings 
 and recon-lite oracles in the plain yea and nay of life. It is a graceful 
 and unpretentious little biography, and tells all that need be told concerning 
 one of the greatest writers of the time. It is a deeply interesting if not 
 fascinating woman whom Miss Blind presents," says the New York 
 Tribune. 
 
 " Miss Blind s little biographical study of George Eliot is written with 
 sympathy and good taste, and is very welcome. It gives us a graphic if not 
 elaborate sketch of the personality and development of the great novelist, is 
 particularly full and authentic concerning her earlier years, tells enough of 
 the leading motives in her work to give the general reader a lucid idea of the 
 triie drift and purpose of her art, ar.d analyzes carefully her various writings, 
 with no attempt at profound criticism or fine writing, but with appreciation, 
 insight, and a clear grasp of those underlying psychological principles which 
 are so closely interwoven in every production that came from her pen." 
 Traveller. 
 
 The lives of few great writers have attracted more curiosity and specula 
 tion than that of George Eliot. Had she only Ijved earlier in the century 
 she might easily have become the centre of a mythos. As it is, many of the 
 anecdotes commonly repeated about her are made up largely of fable. It is, 
 therefrre, well, before it is too late, to reduce the true story of her career to 
 the lowest terms, and this service has been well done by the author of the 
 present volume." Philadelphia Press. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers, or mailed, post-paid, on receipt of 
 price, by the publishers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON. 
 
MESSRS. ROBERTS BROTHERS PUBLICATIONS. 
 NO NAME (THIRD) SERIES. 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE PHILISTINES, 
 
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 it grows. The Third Series includes some of the best. Barrington s Fate is followed 
 by A Daughter of the Philistines, and it is good from beginning to end. . . . The 
 book is brimming with little bits of wisdom, and genuine worldly knowledge. . . . 
 
 " A Daughter of the Philistines does not claim to be a society novel, but it gives 
 more comprehensive information of New York society than the books that make that 
 subject a specialty. It also depicts faithfully the scheming stock operations of Wall 
 street ; but the ugliest facts of society and of stock gambling are presented with a re 
 fined taste and a delicate humor that would please the most fastidious reader." 
 Hartford Times. 
 
 "We commend the story as a picture of the demoralizing effect of Wall Street spec 
 ulation on domestic li r e, for its graphic portraiture of fashionable life on Murray Hill, 
 and for the lesson it inculcates of the misfortune and disaster that follow in the train 
 of those who give themselves up to the worship of Mammon." Providence Journal. 
 
 " A Daughter of the Philistines is one of the latest of the No Name Series and 
 it is the most interesting of the collection. Its literary superiority and originality 
 strike one upon its first page, and they are continued. There is not a dull page in the 
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 House of a Merchant Prince, Mr. Bishop, of New York. We nre, however, it 
 seems, never to know who any of these No Name writers are, and so even guess 
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 where and how intense worldliness is apt to bring up. The Daughter, however, 
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 by him saved from the fate which at first threatens her. The whole is managed with 
 the skill of a practised writer, with the insight of true genius, and with an aim which 
 the judicious reader fully indorses." Standard, Chicago. 
 
 One Volume. IGmo. Brown Cloth. Gilt and Black. Price, &1.00. 
 
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 NO NAME (THIRD) SERIES. 
 
 LITTLE SISTER. 
 
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