atmosphere rendered eminently desirable, and the density of the crowd
made indulgence in precarious, addressed her next neighbour, whom she
had catalogued as a nice, friendly boy. "It's Mr. Brown, isn't it?" she
added in triumph at so easily associating the name with the face.

The young man's beaming countenance showed his delight. "Good for you,
Miss Bentley! It would be great. Let me have your plate while you
squeeze in."

This corner behind a mass of greens seemed to have been left with the
intention of protecting an elaborate cabinet that occupied a shallow
recess. However it might be, here was a refuge, difficult of access,
but possible. Margaret Elizabeth held on to her hat and dived in.

"Grand!" she cried. "This is beyond my wildest hopes," and she perched
herself on a short step-ladder, left here no doubt by the decorators,
and held out her hands for the plates. Mr. Brown found a more lowly seat
beneath a bay tree. They looked at each other and laughed.

"My position is a ticklish one, so to speak," he observed, vainly trying
to dodge the palm leaves to the right of him; "but I think we are
reasonably safe from pursuit."

"I haven't the remotest idea where my aunt is," Margaret Elizabeth
remarked, eating her ice in serene unconcern.

"Say, Miss Bentley, I have heard my cousin speak of you--Augustus
McAllister, you know."

"Are you Mr. McAllister's cousin?" Miss Bentley's tone and smile left