One day Bell expressed a desire for a glass of water from the spring on the grounds of the Clarendon, and as she knew she was exquisitely dressed, and sure to create a sensation all along the street, she started with Grace and her husband for the spring. The Clarendon was not full, though it had the reputation of entertaining the very _crème de la crème_, those who preferred cool shades, and pure air and fresh furniture and quiet, to the glare and crowd and heat and fashion farther down town. There were but few on the broad piazza that afternoon, but at these Bell looked curiously, especially at the two young ladies who were standing with their backs to her, and whom she at once decided to be somebody. Both wore deep mourning, and one was fair with chestnut hair, while the braids of the other were dark and glossy and abundant. A white-haired man and middle-aged woman were sitting near them, and a tall, fine-looking young man was standing by the shorter of the young ladies, and evidently describing something which greatly interested all, for peals of laughter were occasionally heard as the story proceeded, and the girl with the chestnut hair turned her head a little more toward Bell, and also toward Frank. There was a violent start on his part, and then he suggested that they return to their hotel. But Bell insisted upon going up the hill and occupying some vacant chairs upon the piazza. She was tired, and it looked so cool and pleasant there, she said in that tone of voice which Frank always obeyed, and with a beating heart he gave her his arm and led her up the steep bank and put her in her chair and brought another for Grace, and fidgeted about and managed to keep his back toward the group which he knew was watching him. The hum of their voices had ceased as he drew near with his magnificent bride, who in her diamonds and costly array presented so striking a contrast to the two plainly-dressed young ladies, whom Bell thought so beautiful, wondering greatly who they were. Frank _knew_ who they were, and stood an awkward moment and tried not to see them; then with a great gulp, in which he forced down far more emotion than his wife ever gave him credit for possessing, he turned toward them, accidentally as it seemed, and uttering a well-feigned exclamation of surprise went forward to meet Alice Grey and Magdalen. “Speak of angels and you hear the rustle of their wings,” Guy said, when the first words of greeting were over. “I was talking of you, or rather of Mrs. Irving, whom I saw at the hop last night, and whose beauty and dress I was describing to these rustic country girls.” “Oh, yes, certainly. I should like to present my wife to you,” Frank said, his spirits rising as they always did when his wife was complimented.