"Delightful!" she exclaimed, "to enjoy the ocean and coast-scenery after the rush of company has left! While the fashionable season lasts, there is nothing but dress and gossip. You are wise to avoid it."
"I think so," he replied. "Neither my tastes nor my pursuits incline me to mingle in what is termed fashionable society. It makes too large demands upon one's time, to say nothing of the expense or the unsatisfactory nature of its pleasures."
"I agree with you. So you are going to sketch. Would not you and Mr. Easelmann like some company? You will not pore over your canvas _all_ day, surely."
"We should be delighted; _I_ should, certainly. And if you will look at my friend's face just now, as he is talking to your beautiful sister-in-law, you will see that he would not object."
"Do you think Lydia is _beautiful_?" The tone was quiet, but the glance questioning.
"Not classically beautiful,--but one of the most lovely, engaging women I ever met."
"Yes,--she is charming, truly. I don't think her strikingly handsome, though; but tastes rarely agree, you know. I only asked to ascertain your predilections."
"I understand," thought Greenleaf; but he made no further reply.
"Don't be surprised, if you see us before your stay is over,--that is, if Lydia and I can induce Charles to go down with us. Henry is too busy, I suppose."
Charles passed just then; he was endeavoring to form a cotillon, declaring that talk was slow, and, now that the music was over, a dance would be the thing.
"Charles, you will go to Nahant for a week,--won't you?"
"Too cold, Sister Marcia; too late, altogether."
"But you were unwilling to go early in the season."
"Too early is as bad as too late; it is chilly there till the company comes. No billiards, no hops, no pwetty girls, no sailing, no wides on the beach, no pwomenades on the moonlight side of the piazza. No, my deah, Nahant is stupid till the curwent sets that way."
"Southern visitors warm the coast like the Gulf Stream, I suppose," said Greenleaf.
"Pwecisely so,"--then, after the idea had reached his brain, adding, "Vewy good, Mr. Gweenleaf! Vewy good!"
The soirée ended as all seasons of pleasure must, and without the dance on which Charles had set his heart. The friends walked home together. Greenleaf was rather silent, but Easelmann at last made him talk.