Clarice gave a shrug of annoyance. Her little shaft had failed to hit the mark, and she was not in a very good humor when she left him and went towards her dressing room, meeting on the way an acquaintance, who, like herself, had just left the water. Meanwhile Elithe was divesting herself of her wet garments, and had nearly completed her toilet when Clarice and her friend passed her door, one taking the room next her own and the other the adjoining one. They were talking together, and every word they said could be distinctly heard by Elithe. “Do you often come here?” one asked, and the other replied: “Haven’t been here before this summer, and don’t believe I’ll come again. Not a soul I know but you and Paul.” Elithe thought she recognized the last speaker’s voice, but was not sure until the first spoke again. “I say, Clarice, who is the pretty girl Mr. Ralston was teaching to swim?” Elithe held her breath for the answer, which came promptly and plain. “That? Oh, that’s a niece of that frumpy Miss Hansford. You’ve heard of her, of course. The girl’s name is Elithe,—rather a pretty name, too. She’s from the wild and woolly West, Miners’ Camp, or something in Montana. Paul has the queerest notions about some things. He has always liked the aunt, and is polite to her niece, just as he is to every one. I believe the old maid asked him to take charge of her to-day. Do you think her pretty? I wish you could have seen her on the boat the day she came. Such a guy, and such baggage,—actually tied with a rope!” “Not, really?” “Yes, really. Hope to die if it wasn’t; and she has on an old bathing suit of mine which was sent in a missionary box from our church in Washington to the Rev. Roger Hansford. That’s her father. I can’t be mistaken. The buttons and braid were of a peculiar kind. I never liked it, and only wore it at Long Branch a few times. I knew it in a minute. There was a riding cap of mine in the same box. I wonder if she has that and will appear in it some day? No, I don’t think her very pretty. Perhaps she would be if her clothes were not so back-woodsy. She was at church last Sunday in a made-over changeable silk, with small sleeves, gathered just a little at the top. Not material enough to make them larger, I suppose. Probably that was in some box like my bathing suit. Her aunt sent word for me to call. Think of it!” “Have you called?” the first speaker asked, and Clarice replied: “I guess not much! Shan’t, either; although Paul wants me to do so. He’s very democratic, you know.” “Yes, but an awfully nice fellow, and you are to be congratulated.” “That’s so,” Clarice assented, and, opening the door of her bath room, she walked away, followed by her friend, with no suspicion that Elithe had heard every word.