"Attractive, but from a different standpoint," Nan asserted with a fine assumption of authority. "Everything depends upon your point of view, according to Henry James. Now, from my artistic pinnacle," tilting her head to one side, and surveying the group with critical, but approving eyes, "I declare I prefer brown hands to white ones." "By the way," asked Jean, with well-feigned indifference, "what did you think of the naval officers?" "To return to our muttons," murmured Nathalie, with a sidelong glance at her sister. "Mr. Dudley was very pleasant and agreeable," replied Emily, "but I thought Mr. Farr rather uninteresting." "Well," laughed Eleanor demurely, "Nan is right. Everything does depend upon one's point of view. Now I thought Mr. Farr decidedly attractive, and Mr. Dudley just a good-natured boy." "That reminds me of something I saw in the paper the other day," Jean observed smilingly. "To the question 'What is taste?' the answer was given, 'There is no such thing, except on the principle that some people haven't any.'" "That is a fine way of disposing of one," and there was an expression of quiet amusement in Eleanor's eyes. "Never mind, dear," leaning forward and pinching Jean's cheek, "I will forgive you. Besides," dropping her voice, "you know that you agree with me." "Now, what are you girls whispering about?" complained Nathalie. "Oh, bother this sewing," she went on irrelevantly; "I have had enough of it for to-day," and the bit of work was tossed impatiently into her basket. This was the signal for a general uprising, and then, as they were dispersing, Nathalie made the announcement: "Helen has asked Mr. Dudley and Mr. Farr to dinner to-morrow night." "Yes," answered Mollie, turning back from the open doorway, "and Captain Dodd and his wife, too. Dick says," with an air of profound conviction, "that they are delightful." "That settles it," laughed Nan, "Dick can't be wrong. Come on, Moll," linking her arm in Mollie's, "I am going to take you home to luncheon with me to-day." It was late that afternoon when Jean, who had been reading for hours on the quiet veranda, suddenly jumped to her feet, with a little sigh of weariness, and tossed her book into a neighboring chair. She was tired of sitting still so long and felt in the humor for a walk. Slowly she made her way down the broad steps and across the grounds of the manor. Strolling on in a reverie, and heeding but little in which way her steps were taking her, she came upon the great iron gates which opened out into the roadway. Passing through them she wandered listlessly on toward the water.