themselves on the grass at some distance. Kenneth had borrowed a guitar from the musicians. He was surrounded by fluffy gay nymphs of different types, but all young and charming. Two negligible males had been supplied by Providence as witnesses. He teased and was teased. He sang his little songs dealing with naughty maidens of the bold black eye, or fishermen who sailed out of Billingsgate. He recited his little verses, notably one that ended to the effect that "the hint with all its sweetness her lover did discern, he flung his arms around her neck and glued his lips to hern." This elicited shrieks and writhings. The crass vulgarity and bad taste made a piquant contrast to the elegance of the relations between such cultured young people. The girls liked it, but it made them shudder—like the juice of the sweet lemon. Kenneth had a what-cares-he-for-conventions feeling, like the young devil he was. Dora Stanley and Myra Welch, and Isabelle Carson played up especially well. Dora was the vivid roguish type, Myra the languid, dark beautiful type, and Isabelle the plump sentimental type, which was of course why they were always together. Martin Stanley and Winchester Carson felt a vast secret contempt, but they could not think of a thing to do about it.
Boyd and the banker were still together, and had seated themselves near the middle of the long table. Over the Colonel's rye and bourbon they had fallen in with a number of delightful young-old men, and they were having rather a loud good time. Already Boyd had agreed to go riding with them and to play poker with them. They had a fund of dry humour, considerable native shrewdness, and a deliberate intention to have a good time. Four of them were staying at the Fremont for the winter; the other three owned places in the town where they had retired after stormy nor them business careers in the turbulent 'seventies. They were after Boyd's own heart; and he after theirs.
But one other group among all the Colonel's guests requires especial mention as having to do with the story. These were three: an elderly Spanish gentleman and his wife, and their daughter. They had driven up rather grandly in a victoria with a broad-hatted coachman at the ribbons, and had greeted the Colonel with a great deal of ceremony. Don Vincente
