Andrew looked with a pity he did not admit was fellow-feeling at the
pretty girls with their bright complexions, their merely stylish
clothes--which reminded him of Polly's--the inferior feathers in their
chip hats. The sharp contrast between the two groups of girls was almost
painful.

"I've got to leave you," said Chapman; "but I'll see you later. Take
care of yourself."

The horn tooted, the whip cracked, the coach started. The men on the
club balcony above the Casino watched it lazily. The street between the
coach and the green wall opposite had been blocked with carriages that
now rolled away.

Webb turned his attention to the group of cottagers. One of the girls
wore a yellow organdie trimmed with black velvet ribbons, a large
Leghorn covered with yellow feathers and black velvet. She was not
pretty, but she had "an air," and that was supremest beauty in Andrew's
eyes. Another was in lilac, another in pink. Each had the same sleek
brown hair, the same ivory complexion. In attendance was a tall clumsily
built but very imposing young man with sleepy blue eyes and a mighty
mustache. The girls paid him marked attention.

They chatted for a few moments, then walked through the entrance of
the Casino, over the lawn, towards the lower balcony of the horseshoe
surrounding it. Andrew followed, fascinated. The young man in
attendance walked after the manner of his kind, and Andrew,
unconsciously imitating him, ascended the steps, seated himself with
an air of elaborate indifference opposite the party in the narrow
semicircle, and composed his face into an expression of blank