magic. Montague did his best to accustom himself to the gowns of the
women, which were cut lower than any he had ever seen in his life;
but he hesitated every time he turned to speak to the young lady
beside him, because he could look so deep down into her bosom, and
it was difficult for him to realize that she did not mind it.

The conversation was the same as before, except that it was a little
more general, and louder in tone; for the guests had become more
intimate, and as Robbie Walling's wines of priceless vintage poured
forth, they became a little "high." The young lady who sat on
Montague's right was a Miss Vincent, a granddaughter of one of the
sugar-kings; she was dark-skinned and slender, and had appeared at a
recent lawn fete in the costume of an Indian maiden. The company
amused itself by selecting an Indian name for her; all sorts of
absurd ones were suggested, depending upon various intimate details
of the young lady's personality and habits. Robbie caused a laugh by
suggesting "Little Dewdrop"--it appeared that she had once been
discovered writing a poem about a dewdrop; some one else suggested
"Little Raindrop," and then Ollie brought down the house by
exclaiming, "Little Raindrop in the Mud-puddle!" A perfect gale of
laughter swept over the company, and it must have been a minute
before they could recover their composure; in order to appreciate
the humour of the sally it was necessary to know that Miss Vincent
had "come a cropper" at the last meet of the Long Island Hunt Club,
and been extricated from a slough several feet deep.

This was explained to Montague by the young lady on his left--the
one whose half-dressed condition caused his embarrassment. She was
only about twenty, with a wealth of golden hair and the bright,
innocent face of a child; he had not yet learned her name, for every