"But I thought Mrs. Devreaux and the Klines were with you," remarked
Mrs. Linceford.

"Of our party? Oh, no indeed; we only fell in with them here."

"Fell in" with them; became inseparable for a week; and now were
stealing a march,--_dodging_ them,--lest there might be an overcrowding
of the stage, and an impossibility of getting outside seats! Mrs.
Thoresby was a woman of an imposing elegance and dignity, with her large
curls of resplendent gray hair high up on her temples, her
severely-handsome dark eyebrows, and her own perfect, white teeth; yet
she could do a shabby thing, you see,--a thing made shabby by its
motive. The Devreaux and Klines were only "floating people," boarding
about,--not permanently valuable as acquaintances; well enough to know
when one met them,--that was all. Mrs. Thoresby had daughters; she was
obliged to calculate as to what was worth while. Mrs. Linceford had an
elegant establishment in New York; she had young sisters to bring out;
there was suitability here; and the girls would naturally find
themselves happy together.

Dakie Thayne developed brilliantly at croquet. He and Leslie, with Etty
Thoresby, against Imogen and the Haddens, swept triumphantly around the
course, and came in to the stake, before there had been even a "rover"
upon the other side. Except, indeed, as they were _sent_ roving, away
off over the bank and down the road, from the sloping, uneven
ground,--the most extraordinary field, in truth, on which croquet was
ever attempted. But then you cannot expect a level, velvet lawn on the
side of a mountain.