Juanita Sterling and Blanche Puddicombe stood face to face, a
smiling "How do you do, Miss Puddicombe!" on one side, a gushing
"I'm charmed to meet you!" on the other, with a gingerly hand-shake
between.

Nelson Randolph was too busy with his tire for much talking, and,
as early as decency would allow, Miss Sterling by degrees slipped
into the background,

"Let's go on," she whispered, taking Miss Leatherland's arm.

The others straggled after, by twos and threes.

"Why didn't you stay longer?" questioned Polly, overtaking her
friend.

"There was nothing to stay for," she laughed.

"Miss Puddicombe said she would like to get acquainted with you."
Polly's tone had the inflection of disappointment.

"Very kind of her," was the quiet comment.

Polly glanced whimsically at Miss Sterling's face. "I guess that
is the grove you were speaking of," was what she said.

Many of the ladies were glad to stop, and scattered stones and
mossy logs made pleasant resting places.

Doodles played delightfully and finally slipped into a waltz.