"It's just like you, Martha, you never believe in any one's eyes but
your own. Here's the glass, look for yourself. If that isn't a man, and
a young man, and a stylish, handsome man, my name isn't Maria Peters."

"You'd be very glad if your name wasn't Peters," replied the irate
sister. "But I fear me there's little likelihood of your changing it
now. Ah, here's Beatrice Meadowsweet. Good-morning, Bee, my dear. How's
your dear mother? Is her poor precious cough any better?"

"Come here, Bee," said Miss Peters. "Come over to the window this
minute, and use your young eyes. Who are those people in Dan Driver's
boat? There, you tell Martha, she wont believe me."

"Those are the Bertrams," exclaimed Beatrice.

She put up her hand to shade her eyes, and took a long steadfast look
over the shining water.

"Those are the Bertrams, and of course, their brother."

"Oh, my dear Bee, how you have relieved me!" exclaimed Mrs. Butler.

She re-seated herself on a settee which stood near, and took her
handkerchief to wipe out some wrinkles of anxiety from her stout face.

Beatrice stared in astonishment.

"I don't quite understand," she said.