"He didn't look that way at Babe," Allyn remarked, with a chuckle. "I thought sure he was going to applaud her, when she came stalking down the beach." "Babe does take the beach a good deal after the manner of Lady Macbeth," Lilly observed. "Where was your man, Allyn? I didn't see any titled strangers of my acquaintance." "He was just back of the Whitmans' awning for a long time. After that, he came down to Mr. Drayton and talked to him. I didn't see him speak to anybody else, though." "Oh," Hubert said suddenly; "I know the man you mean, Allyn. There is a good deal of him, too. Sam Asquith told me he had just come to the hotel. He is a composer and hails from New York." "What is his name?" Theodora asked rather indifferently. "Gifford Barrett." "Oh!" There was a clatter, as Cicely dropped her knife and fork and clasped her hands in ecstasy. "Really?" "Is it so painful as all that, Cis?" Allyn inquired. "Pain! It's utter rapture. I've always felt that, if I could just once look at Gifford Barrett, I could die happy. Do you know who he is, you ignorant ones?" The others owned up to their mental darkness; but Theodora said vaguely,-- "Seems to me I met him once. The name is half-way familiar." Cicely groaned. "Half-way familiar! I should rather say it was." "Who is he, anyway?" Allyn demanded. "Who? Why, he wrote the _Alan Breck Overture_." "What's that?" "Allyn! When I have played it on an average of twice a day, ever since I came here! Haven't you any ears?" "Not for your kind of music," Allyn returned bluntly. "I want a little tune in mine." "Who is the man?" Billy asked. "Is he really of any account, Cis?" "I should think he was. Mr. Paulson, my teacher in New York, said he is the greatest American composer," she returned triumphantly. "A genuine lion, not a duke," Hubert observed. "But I thought composers always wore their hair in flowing ringlets, Cicely. This man is too well groomed to be really inspired." Theodora laughed suddenly. "Hu, you remind me of Mrs. Benson. The day after I came, she asked me whether Miss Greenway didn't write books; she thought all people who wrote books were generally a little untidy." "Did you enlighten her?" "I couldn't, for I had just ripped my jacket sleeve open for more than two inches. 'Twas made with one of those insidious one-thread machines, and I tried to pull out a loose stitch. Since then, she has avoided the subject of Miss Greenway, and I have spent a good share of my energy in mending the more visible portions of my attire. I didn't know before that the eyes of the world were upon us, as upon a peculiar people." But Cicely had returned to the charge. "Cousin Hubert, how long is he going to be here?" "I'm sure I don't know." "Who is he here to see?" "Nobody, apparently, unless his own fair face," Billy answered irreverently. "Cousin Ted, did you say you knew him?" "I'm not sure; but it seems to me I met him once."