“Did you ever see anyone quite as lovely as Laurel Dallas this morning?” remarked Mrs. Adams to Mrs. Grosvenor.

“She’s perfectly exquisite.”

“How is your mother this morning, Laurel, my dear?” Mrs. Adams inquired a moment later.

“Oh, better, thank you, Mrs. Adams,” Laurel replied, turning her flushed, pleased face toward the older woman. “The sweet-peas you sent up to her were lovely. She told me to thank you ever and ever so much.”

“I left another book at the desk, to be sent up to her later,” remarked Mrs. Grosvenor.

“Oh, my mother will be so pleased!”

“I hope she likes Wells, and hasn’t read his latest.”

“I’m sure she hasn’t. You’re awfully kind, Mrs. Grosvenor.”

“Not a bit. I’ve been ill in a hotel-room myself, Laurel, Dear. I know what it is like.”

“Oh, Miss Dallas!” suddenly somebody exclaimed, close beside Laurel’s other shoulder.

Laurel turned and looked up into the eyes of Mrs. Grosvenor’s son Richard—her older son. She had two. Richard was a senior in college. He was one of the oldest boys who played with the crowd. All the girls were “simply crazy” about Richard Grosvenor.

“But he can’t see anybody but you, Laurel Dallas,” one of the girls who had been sitting on the edge of the pier with Laurel had just told her.

“You’re going with me, in my canoe, aren’t you?” he now said to Laurel, smiling.

Any of the other girls would have known how to respond in the bluff, hearty, good-comradeship style of the day. “Thanks, Dick,” or, “Crazy to,” or, “Sure I am,” but Laurel hadn’t acquired all the ways yet. “Am I?” she replied, in the same pleased surprised manner with which she met all attentions shown her.

“Yes, you are,” he assured her quietly. He turned away.

2

“THERE! WHAT DID I say, Laurel Dallas?”

“I’ll bet he picks a single canoe.”

“He was here all last summer and never as much as looked at any of us younger girls.”

All the boys were now busy among the canoes, loading them, rearranging the cushions and seat-backs, shoving the dainty little crafts up against the pier, ready for the girls to step into.

“All ready, Miss Dallas.”

Laurel turned. Yes, Deborah was right! He had selected a single canoe! He stood up in it now as Laurel approached him. He reached up both hands toward her, the canoe drifting away a little from the wharf as he did so. Laurel placed her hands in his, and he swung her across the widening gap between them into the center of the luxurious nest of cushions he had arranged for her in the bottom of the canoe. She alighted in the frail little boat like a bird on a tender twig. There was something of the same birdlike adroitness in every motion that Laurel made.