Mrs. Mayhew sank into a chair, and a heavy frown gathered on her brow as she thought deeply for a few moments. "That girl means mischief," she muttered. "I wonder if she is holding any communication with Sibley? I always thought Ida would take care of herself, but she'll bear watching now. She hasn't been like herself since she came to this place. I must consult Ik at once. Things are bad enough now, heaven knows; but if Ida should do anything disgraceful, I'd have to throw up the game." (Mrs. Mayhew was an inveterate card-player, and her favorite amusement often colored her thoughts and words.) Stanton was found smoking and pretending to read a newspaper in a retired corner of the piazza, but from which, nevertheless, he could see whether Miss Burton made her appearance during the morning. Mrs. Mayhew explained her fears, and the young man used very strong language in expressing his disgust and irritation. "A curse upon it all!" he concluded. "Since she must, and apparently will gratify this low taste, can you not return to New York, patch up the fellow into some sort of respectability and marry them with a blare of brazen instruments that will drown the world's unpleasant remarks?" "That would be better than the scandal of an elopement," mused perplexed Mrs. Mayhew. "From what you say, Sibley is bad enough, and Ida seems reckless enough to do anything. I wish we had never come here." "So do I," groaned Stanton. "No, I don't, either. In fact I'm in a devil of a mess myself. You know it, and I suppose all see it. I can't help it if they do. My passion, no doubt, is vain, but it's to my credit. Ida's is disgraceful to herself and to us all. If I'd been here alone and Van Berg had not come, I might have succeeded; but NOW"--and with a despairing gesture he turned away. "Ik, come back," cried his aunt, "of course I feel for you. You are independent, and can marry whom you please, though heaven knows you could do better than---" "Heaven knows nothing of the kind," he interrupted, irritably, "and if you were nearer heaven--but there, what's the use." "You're right now, Ik. We can't afford to quarrel. You must talk to Ida. We must watch her. Find out if you can what is in her mind, and if the worst comes to the worst, they will have to be married. I suppose it will be wise to hint to her that if she WILL marry Sibley she had better do it in as respectable and quiet a way as possible." "The idea of anything being respectable and quiet where they are concerned!" snarled Stanton. "Well, well," groaned Mrs. Mayhew, "do your best." But Ida was not to be found. She appeared at dinner, however, and not a few looked at her, and stole furtive glances again and again. Among these observers was the artist, and it was evident that he was both perplexed and troubled. Was this cold, marble-cheeked woman the butterfly that had fluttered into the country a few weeks since?