“I suppose,” I said, “that if the newspapers could be got to take hold of it, perhaps something might be done.” The notion amused me; I went on to play with it, and imagined Saratoga, by a joint effort of the leading journals, recolonised with the social life that once made it the paradise of young people. “I have been writing to the children,” said my wife, “and telling them to stay on at York Harbour if the Herricks want them so much. They would hate it here. You say the girl looked cross. I can’t exactly imagine a cross goddess.” “There were lots of cross goddesses,” I said rather crossly myself; for I saw that, after having trodden my romance in the dust, she was willing I should pick it up again and shake it off, and I wished to show her that I was not to be so lightly appeased. “Perhaps I was thinking of angels,” she murmured. “I distinctly didn’t say she was an angel,” I returned. “Now, come, Basil; I see you’re keeping something back. What did you try to do for those people? Did you tell them where you were stopping?” “Yes, I did. They asked me, and I told them.” “Did you brag the place up?” “On the contrary, I understated its merits.” “Oh, very well, then,” she said, quite as if I had confessed my guilt; “they will come here, and you will have your romance on your hands for the rest of the month. I’m thankful we’re going away the first of August.” III THE next afternoon, while we were sitting in the park waiting for the Troy band to begin playing, and I was wondering just when they would reach the “Washington Post March,” which I like because I can always be sure of it, my unknown friends came strolling our way. The man looked bewildered and bored, with something of desperation in his troubled eye, and his wife looked tired and disheartened. The young girl, still in white duck, wore the same air of passive injury I had noted in her the night before. Their faces all three lighted up at sight of me; but they faded again at the cold and meagre response I made to their smiles under correction of my wife’s fears of them. I own it was base of me; but I had begun to feel myself that it might be too large a contract to attempt their consolation, and, in fact, after one is fifty scarcely any romance will keep overnight. My wife glanced from them to me, and read my cowardly mind; but she waited till they passed, as they did after an involuntary faltering in front of us, and were keeping on down the path, looking at the benches, which were filled on either hand. She said, “Weren’t those your friends?” “They were the persons of my romance.” “No matter. Go after them instantly and bring them back here, poor things. We can make room for them.” I rose. “Isn’t this a little too idyllic? Aren’t you rather overdoing it?” “Don’t speak to me, Basil! I never heard of anything so atrocious. Go on your knees to them if they refuse! They can sit here with me, and you and he can stand. Fly!”