Some one who is of a classical turn has been thinking of the daughter of Iasus and Clymene, and cries out, "Bravo, Atalanta! but where is Milanion, that he has forgotten the golden apples?" And Phillis, stricken dumb by the question and the sudden apparition of a bearded face behind the breakwater, remains standing as though she were carved in stone.
"Mr. Drummond! Oh dear! is one never to be free from pastoral supervision?" muttered Phillis, half sulkily, when she roused from her stupefaction and had breath to take the offensive. And what would he think of her? But that was a question to be deferred until later, when nightmares and darkness and troublesome thoughts harass the unwary soul. "Like a dog, he hunts in dreams," she might have said to herself, quoting from "Locksley Hall." But she did nothing of the kind,--only looked at the offending human being with such an outraged dignity in her bearing that Mr. Drummond nearly committed himself by bursting out laughing.
He refrained with difficulty, and said rather dryly,--
"That was a good race; but I saw you would win from the first; and you jumped that stone splendidly. I suppose you know the story of Atalanta?"
"Oh, yes," responded Phillis, gloomily; but she could not help showing off her knowledge all the same; and she had always been so fond of heathen mythology, and had even read translations of Homer and Virgil. "She had a she-bear for a nurse, and was eventually turned into a lion; and I always thought her very stupid for being such a baby and stopping to pick up the golden apple."
"Nevertheless, the subject is a charming one for a picture," returned Archie, with admirable readiness, for he saw Phillis was greatly hurt by this untoward accident, and he liked the girl all the better for her spirit. He would not have discovered himself at all, only in another moment she must have seen him; and if she would only have believed how fully he entered into the fun, and how graceful and harmless he thought it, there would have been no pang of wounded self-esteem left. But girls, especially if they be worthy of the name, are so sensitive and prickly on such matters.
Dulce had basely deserted her sister, and, at the sight of the clerical felt hat, had fled to Nan's side for protection.