“Well,” said Flossie, “I’ve written to Tony Duval in his place.” “Oh, dear!” cried Pussie. “I hate to go about with Tony; or, rather, he says he hates to go about with me. He says he can’t have any fun while I’m around.” “He hates to flirt before his little sister,” laughed Mrs. Gower. “Never mind, dear--I think you’ll soon be even with him.” And when Tony Duval arrived, all his simple soul went out to Mrs. Hay. “She is the finest woman I ever saw,” he would say to Arthur, almost with a sigh. And he sent to Long Island for his two best blooded horses; and the first day they rode out he spilled Mrs. Hay over a four-barred fence, just as they were returning, and brought the fair burden home in his brawny arms. Her eyes unclosed soon after she was in the house; and she was not seriously injured. And Arthur, who had indited a telegram to Wilton Hay at Washington, sensibly put the despatch in his pocket. So the days went by delightfully. Arthur had fears that he was sometimes the odd man; but after all, they seemed to like him pretty well; and if even Pussie Duval failed him, there were other fair in Lenox with no cavaliers imported, like the fruit in the hampers, from the city. So June waned toward July, and everyone almost cheered at Flossie Gower’s proposal that they should have one more drive--to Lake George--before they parted. This new excursion was duly chronicled in all the newspapers, where Mamie Livingstone, eager, and perhaps a little envious, saw it. Arthur wrote and got his leave of absence extended at the office. They were easy-going people at the office. Meantime, Derwent was “hunting big game” out in the Rockies, and Charlie Townley was sweltering in the city--“working like a dog, by Jove,” he would say--at the affairs of Messrs. Townley & Tamms. And Gracie Holyoke was in great Barrington, alone. CHAPTER XXII. A HOUSE BUILT WITH HANDS.