"What on earth are you doing up there? And who's that with you?" "It's your cousin Candace. Come up and be introduced." Up they came at a run, each trying to be the first to arrive. Candace had never known many girls, but these were of a different species from any she had seen before. They seemed full of spirits, and conveyed the idea of being, so to speak, bursting with happiness, though I suppose not one of the three but would have resented the imputation of being happier than people in general are or ought to be. Georgie, the eldest, was short and round, and had her mother's blue near-sighted eyes without her mother's beauty. Gertrude was unusually tall, and had a sort of lily-like grace; her light hair was very thick, and so fine in quality that it stood out like a nimbus round her pale pretty face. Little Marian, the youngest, two years Candace's junior, was not yet in society, but had been allowed to go to the picnic as a great favor. Her hair had a reddish tint in its chestnut, and was braided in one large plait down her back; she had brown eyes and a capable little face which was full of expression. They all spoke kindly to Candace, they all kissed her, but she felt much less at ease with them than with their mother, whose peculiarly charming manner seemed to invite confidence from everybody. After a few questions and a few words of welcome, they plunged into a description of their picnic,--the yacht-sail, the landing, the luncheon, the general delightfulness of everything. "Berry Joy was not there," remarked Georgie. "She had gone up to Wickford to meet some one. By the way, she must have come down on the 'Eolus' with you, Candace. Did you see her?" "There were two young ladies," answered Candace, timidly. "Did you hear their names? Did you talk to them?" asked Gertrude. "No--yes--no--I mean the Captain called one of them Miss Joy. I didn't talk to them, but they knew you." "Why, how could you tell that?" "I heard them talking about you." "What fun! What did they say?" Candace hesitated. Her face grew crimson. "I'd rather--I don't--" she began. Then with a great effort, rallying her powers, she went on: "I didn't like to sit there and hear them and not tell them that I was your cousin; but I was too--too--frightened to speak to them, so I thought I would never repeat what they said, and then it wouldn't be any matter." "Quite right, Cannie," said Mrs. Gray, quickly. Something in the girl's little speech seemed to please her very much. CHAPTER II. THE FIRST EVENING. CANDACE ARDEN'S mother had not only been Mrs. Gray's cousin, but her particular friend as well. The two girls had been brought up together, had shared their studies and secrets and girlish fun, and had scarcely ever been separated for a week, until suddenly a change came which separated them for all the rest of their lives.