“Well,” Barlow interposed, jealous for Jocelyn’s, “you can most al’ays tell by the look o’ things.” “Yes,” said one of the ladies; “but I’d rather trust the Weather Report. It’s wonderful how it comes true. I don’t think there’s anything that you miss more in Europe than our American Weather Report.” “I’m sure you miss the oysters,” said another. “Yes,” the first admitted, “you do miss the oysters. It was the last of the R months when we landed in New York; and do you know what we did the first thing—? We drove to Fulton Market, and had one of those Fulton Market broils! My husband said we should have had it if it had been July. He used to dream of the American oysters when we were in Europe. Gentlemen _are_ so fond of them.” Barlow, from scanning the heavens, turned round and faced the company, which had drooped in several attitudes of exhaustion on the benching of the piazza. “Well, I can most al’ays tell about Jocelyn’s as good as the Weather Report. I told Mrs. Maynard here this mornin’ that the fog was goin’ to burn off.” “_Burn_ off?” cried Mrs. Alger. “I should think it had!” The other ladies laughed. “And you’ll see,” added Barlow, “that the wind ’ll change at noon, and we’ll have it cooler.” “If it’s as hot on the water as it is here,” said Mrs. Scott, “I should think those people would get a sunstroke.” “Well, so should _I_, Mrs. Scott,” cordially exclaimed a little fat lady, as if here at last were an opinion in which all might rejoice to sympathize. “It’s never so hot on the water, Mrs. Merritt,” said Mrs. Alger, with the instructiveness of an old _habituée_. “Well, not at Jocelyn’s,” suggested Barlow. Mrs. Alger stopped fanning herself with her newspaper, and looked at him. Upon her motion, the other ladies looked at Barlow. Doubtless he felt that his social acceptability had ceased with his immediate usefulness. But he appeared resolved to carry it off easily. “Well,” he said, “I suppose I must go and pick my peas.” No one said anything to this. When the factotum had disappeared round the corner of the house, Mrs. Alger turned her head aside, and glanced downward with an air of fatigue. In this manner Barlow was dismissed from the ladies’ minds. “I presume,” said young Mrs. Scott, with a deferential glance at Grace, “that the sun is good for a person with lung-difficulty.” Grace silently refused to consider herself appealed to, and Mrs. Merritt said, “Better than the moon, I should think.” Some of the others tittered, but Grace looked up at Mrs. Merritt and said, “I don’t think Mrs. Maynard’s case is so bad that she need be afraid of either.” “Oh, I am so glad to hear it!” replied the other. She looked round, but was unable to form a party. By twos or threes they might have liked to take Mrs. Maynard to pieces; but no one cares to make unkind remarks before a whole company of people. Some of the ladies even began to say pleasant things about Mr. Libby, as if he were Grace’s friend.