were in bunchy taffetas, with handkerchiefs stuck into their armlets, and underwear straps hanging down. One sat alone, with a supercilious expression, and called out to a man hurrying past:
"Mr. Wallace. I rahther fahncy I shall just drop out of the saight-seeing excursion to-morrow."
"Much Mr. Wallace cares!" said Evelyn to Joe. "Poor thing."
"Evelyn! My Gawd! Look, isn't this a new lot?"
More tourists, in tweeds instead of taffetas, were being led about by a friend who had gotten there first. Eager, excited, important, he was insisting on showing the others the grandeurs of the pension. "But wyte! You 'aven't seen the dahning room yet!" And the flock was forced reluctantly to look at the dining room.
"Evelyn! Naughty! You mustn't laugh at people right in front of them! Oh, gosh! I meant to write to mother to-night."
"That's all you've said all evening. Joe! Be careful! You'll dislocate your jaw!"
"I'm too sleepy to-night. I'll write to-morrow morning."
He opened the shutters of the long French windows and stepped out on a balcony made of a scrap of lettuce-green iron lace. Warm sunlight flooded him as he looked down at the personally conducted party squeezing into a char-à-bancs and amusing an old
