"I was so 'fraid Lily Bell would be cross," he confided to her, as he
sat sedately on his half of the stern-seat. "But she's all right, an'
we're going to have a lovely time."

That prediction was justified by events, for the occasion was a
brilliant one, and Lily Bell's share in it so persistent and
convincing that at times Miss Greene actually found herself sharing in
the delusion of the little girl's presence. Her good-natured yielding
in the matter of the seat, moreover, had evidently commended her to
Miss Bell's good graces, and that young person brought out the
choicest assortment of her best manners to do honor to the grown-up
guest.

"Lily Bell wants you to have this seat, Miss Greene, 'cause it's in
the shade an' has a nice back," said Raymond, delightedly, almost as
soon as they had reached the island; and Miss Greene flopped into it
with a sigh of content in the realization that Miss Bell did not
intend to usurp all the choice spots, as her persistence earlier in
the day might possibly have suggested to a suspicious mind. There,
alternately reading and dozing, she incidentally listened to the flow
of conversation poured forth by her small charge, varied only by
occasional offerings to her, usually suggested by Miss Bell and
ranging from the minnow he had succeeded in catching with a worm and a
bent pin to the choicest tidbits of the luncheon. There were two
glasses for the ginger-ale. Miss Greene had one and Lily Bell the
other. Raymond Mortimer gallantly drank from the bottle.

"Why don't you use Lily Bell's glass?" was Miss Greene's very natural
inquiry. It would seem, indeed, that two such congenial souls would
have welcomed the closer union this suggestion invited, but Raymond