washing the edge of the wide sloping lawn, and making perpetual music on
a summer day with its joyous ripple.

There was a good deal of company already scattered about the lawn when
John Saltram and his friend were ushered into the pretty drawing-room.
The cheerful sound of croquet-balls came from a level stretch of grass
visible from the windows, and quite a little fleet of boats were jostling
one another at the landing by the Swiss boat-house.

Mrs. Branston came in from the garden to welcome them, looking very
pretty in a coquettish little white-chip hat with a scarlet feather, and
a pale-gray silk dress looped up over an elaborately-flounced muslin
petticoat. She was a slender little woman, with a brilliant complexion,
sunny waving hair, and innocent blue eyes; the sort of woman whom a man
would wish to shelter from all the storms of life, but whom he might
scarcely care to choose for the companion of a perilous voyage.

She professed herself very much pleased to see Gilbert Fenton.

"I have heard so much of you from Mr. Saltram," she said. "He is always
praising you. I believe he cares more for you than anyone else in the
world."

"I have not many people to care for," answered John Saltram, "and Gilbert
is a friend of long standing."

A sentimental expression came over Mrs. Branston's girlish face, and she
gave a little regretful sigh.

"I am sorry you will not see my husband to-day," she said, after a brief