“No, Harding, thank you.” The crushed ice in the glass was no cooler nor crisper than St. George's tone. “Harry and I have been broiling in the sun all the morning and we are going to go where it is cool.” “But it's cool here,” Harding called after him, struggling to his feet in the effort to detain him. There was really no one in the club he liked better than St. George. “No--we'll try it inside,” and with a courteous wave of his hand and a feeling of relief in his heart, he and Harry kept on their way. He turned to mount the steps when the sudden pushing back of all the chairs on the sidewalk attracted his attention. Two ladies were picking their way across the street in the direction of the club. These, on closer inspection, proved to be Miss Lavinia Clendenning and her niece, Sue Dorsey, who had been descried in the offing a few minutes before by the gallants on the curbstone, and who at first had been supposed to be heading for Mrs. Pancoast's front steps some distance away, until the pair, turning sharply, had borne down upon the outside chairs with all sails set--(Miss Clendenning's skirts were of the widest)--a shift of canvas which sent every man to his feet with a spring. Before St. George could reach the group, which he did in advance of Harry, who held back--both ladies being intimate friends of Kate's--old Captain Warfield, the first man to gain his feet--very round and fat was the captain and very red in the face (1812 Port)--was saying with his most courteous bow: “But, my dear Miss Lavinia, you have not as yet told us to what we are indebted for this mark of your graciousness; and Sue, my dear, you grow more like your dear mother every day. Why are you two angels abroad at this hour, and what can we do for you?” “To the simple fact, my dear captain,” retorted the irresistible spinster, spreading her skirts the wider, both arms akimbo--her thin fingers acting as clothespins, “that Sue is to take her dancing lesson next door, and as I can't fly in the second-story window, having mislaid my wings, I must use my feet and disturb everybody. No, gentlemen--don't move--I can pass.” The captain made so profound a salaam in reply that his hat grazed the bricks of the sidewalk. “Let me hunt for them, Miss Lavinia. I know where they are!” he exclaimed, with his hand on his heart. “Where?” she asked roguishly, twisting her head on one side with the movement of a listening bird. “In heaven, my lady, where they are waiting your arrival,” he answered, with another profound sweep of his hand and dip of his back, his bald head glistening in the sunlight as he stooped before her. “Then you will never get near them,” she returned with an equally low curtsy and a laugh that nearly shook her side curls loose.