A few moments after the carriage drew up before an iron gateway, and
Mildred saw a small house at the bottom of a small garden. There was a
pavilion on the left and a numerous company were dining beneath the
branches of a cedar. Elsie and Cissy got up, and dropping their
napkins ran to meet their friend. She was led in triumph to the table,
and all through dinner she had a rough impression of English girls in
cheap linen dresses and of men in rough suits and flowing neck-ties.

She was given some soup, and when the plate of veal had been handed
round, and Elsie and Cissy had exhausted their first store of
questions, she was introduced to Morton Mitchell. His singularly small
head was higher by some inches than any other, bright eyes, and white
teeth showing through a red moustache, and a note of defiance in his
open-hearted voice made him attractive. Mildred was also introduced to
Rose Turner, the girl who sat next him, a weak girl with pretty eyes.
Rose already looked at Mildred as if she anticipated rivalry, and was
clearly jealous of every word that Morton did not address to her.
Mildred looked at him again. He was better dressed than the others,
and an air of success in his face made him seem younger than he was.
He leaned across the table, and Mildred liked his brusque, but withal
well-bred manner. She wondered what his pictures were like. At
Daveau's only the names of the principal exhibitors at the Salon were
known, and he had told her that he had not sent there for the last
three years. He didn't care to send to the vulgar place more than he
could help.

Mildred noticed that all listened to Morton; and she was sorry to
leave the table, so interesting was his conversation. But Elsie and
Cissy wanted to talk to her, and they marched about the grass plot,