* * * * *

Althea arrived at five. The Skeptic, in tennis flannels, was lounging on
the porch as she came up the steps, and scanned her critically over the
racquet he still held, after a brisk set-to with the Gay Lady, who is
one of my other guests. (We call her the Gay Lady because of her
flower-bright face, her trick of smiling when other people frown, and
because of a certain soft sparkle and glow about her whole personality,
as indescribable as it is captivating). The Gay Lady had gone indoors to
dress for the evening, and the Philosopher had not returned from the
long daily tramp by which he keeps himself in trim. The Lad was on the
porch mending some fishing-tackle--my Lad, with the clear young eyes
which see things.

Althea gave the Skeptic a glance, the Lad a smile, and me a hearty
embrace. I had never seen her before, and her visit had been brought
about by a request from her mother, an old friend, who was anxious to
have her daughter spend a pleasant vacation in the absence of most of
the girl's family.

It was impossible not to like my new guest at once. She was a healthy,
hearty, blooming sort of girl, good to look at, pleasant company to have
about, and, as I soon learned, sweet-tempered to a degree which it
seemed nothing could upset. She followed me upstairs, talking brightly
all the way, and made her entrance into the white room as a pink
hollyhock might drop unconcernedly into a pan of milk.

"What a lovely, cool-looking room!" she cried, and dropped her coat
and umbrella upon the bed.