"My, she's plain!" was Marie Jean's mental ejaculation as she looked at the girl before her. Margaret's pretty dark hair was parted evenly in the middle, and plaited into heavy Dutch braids about her shapely head. Her dress was a yellow embroidered mull, with simple sash ribbons of the same colour. Had it not been for two slender rings that flashed upon the finger of one hand, Marie Jean might not have thought her worthy of passing consideration. But as the girls talked on in a friendly fashion, she gleaned from Miss Billy's remarks that Margaret was a student of music and the modern languages:--that she pursued her studies in Europe:--that she would return in the Spring:--and Marie Jean could no longer doubt that she was the "real thing." Moreover, she was pretty,--undeniably pretty,--with dark eyes, and white even teeth. Marie Jean wondered if "he" might not fancy this stranger, and for the first time in her life, she considered her own personal attractions with misgivings. A rush of lemonade trade separated the girls, and Miss Billy and Margaret, wending their way on, came upon Francis, lifting over the back fence a load of belated chairs, borrowed from the church. "I'll call Moses Levi to do this,--you've worked enough to-day," ordered Miss Billy. "Beside, I want to introduce you to my very dearest friend, Margaret Van Courtland." As Francis flecked the dust from his clothes and came forward, a ray of the headlight fell directly upon Margaret's face. "I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Van Courtland before," he said, without a moment's hesitation. "I beg your pardon," said Margaret uncertainly,--"I cannot remember----" Then as the light fell upon his tall form, handsome face, and dark, grave eyes, she gave a little gasp, and floundered helplessly in a sea of words. "Why,--I had no idea!--of course, we met in Cologne,--that is, we both fell in the mud!--Miss Billy, this is the _Count_!" * * * * * On a lawn seat, in the flare of the campaign torches, Mr. Hennesy, a glass of lemonade in hand, held forth to a bevy of Miss Van Courtland's fashionable friends on the superiority of masculine intellect as compared to that of woman. "Sure an' phwat if a man cut off th' top av his coat, an' sewed it onto th' lig av his pants, to thrail in th' mud afther 'im? Sure an' wudn't ye be afther thinkin' he was crazy? Answer me thot, now?" "Why, of course we would," answered the girls in a breath. "But then, Mr. Hennesy, we don't----" "Wait now," said Mr. Hennesy, holding up one finger triumphantly. "Be aisy a bit. There's one p'int scored fer th' masculoine moind! Now thin,--phwat if I sh'ud be afther comin' here to-noight wid a feather shtuck up in me hair, or a gould buttherfly hoverin' over me forehead, th' same as ye have? Wudn't ye be afther thinkin' me brain no heavier than me head-dress? Answer me thot, now." "It certainly would look funny," admitted the girls laughingly.