hole in his first quarter's income, but he regarded that as a trifling
detail. His mother and sister were meanwhile selling the homely
necessities of their flat at auction, as the first step to a year
abroad. They wondered at Andrew's desire to go to Newport, but had heard
that it was a pretty place with a good bathing-beach, and much visited
by tourists. They spent the last night together in a hotel; and Mrs.
Webb, in spite of a faint protest from Andrew, ordered beer and crackers
and cheese. They had eaten this little supper for many years, and the
women, who were very tearful, insisted that this last evening together
must be as much like the dear old evenings as possible. It was a sad
meal.





V

It was a profoundly hot August day when Andrew left the steamboat and
actually stood upon Newport soil. More properly, he stood upon a plank
wharf, and was not impressed with the dock. But as the omnibus rolled
through the town his heart began to swell, his rather dull eyes to glow.
The hour was two, and the city asleep under its ivy and flowers. After
New York, it seemed deliciously quiet, and old, and aristocratic. The
pounding of the horses' hoofs, the voices of the people in the omnibus,
were desecrating. He had glimpses of long avenues, dark, green, dim; a
flash of villa top or imposing gateway behind the stately trees. He felt
that he was in paradise.

He was in a mood to admire the hotel, plain and unpretending structure