As she passed from view I looked down at the trio below me. Mrs. Northrup was regarding her brother curiously, and I don't think either she or I was at all surprised when he turned, his face aglow with enthusiasm, and said: “What a lovely girl!” Then, with quick change of tone, “Who is that man with her?” “Lovely as a Prang,” remarked my lady, dryly. “The man is your hated rival, of whom you are already madly jealous. He is young, beautiful and rich, dances divinely, speaks _real_ English and has very nearly a tablespoonful of brains--not that he needs such a preponderance of brain, for he has enough money to make a social success of a jibbering idiot. His name is Francis Floyd-Jones, but we speak of him affectionately as 'Fluggeon,' and those that know him best sometimes lovingly refer to him as 'Balaam's Ass'--but you'll like him, Harry.” Van Zandt's reply I did not hear, as I discreetly moved away; but I heard both men laugh, and I joined them heartily when at a safe distance. When we landed I found we were all bound for the same hotel, a capital one, named for and kept by one of a famous hotel-keeping family. The Northrups' little girl, a madcap child of six, was on the lawn waiting the return of her parents and the arrival of her uncle, of whom she was evidently very fond, although she abandoned him speedily in order to hug and kiss his superb Irish setter, Blarney, who licked the small imp's face calmly and appeared in his grave dog's way genuinely glad to see her. Ethel, as I found out in a day or two, had taken one of those intense fancies that children do occasionally to almost entire strangers to “the lady in rouge,” and would escape to her whenever chance permitted. Poor Mrs. Northrup! Her ranks were deserters to the enemy. Her husband openly admired the gorgeously-tinted girl, her child simply worshipped her, her brother had palpably fallen in love at first sight, and, when we came out from dinner, it was found that Blarney had dumbly sworn allegiance to the violet of two zones and could with difficulty be induced to leave her. The dog's infatuation was put to-practical service by his master during the next few weeks, for that astute young gentleman, when unable to discover the whereabouts of his idol by peering and prowling, would take one of Blarney's silky ears in his hand and whisper, “Go, find her, boy,” which the clever animal promptly proceeded to do, usually successfully, though often the search would receive a check on the edge of the lake and be resumed after a run of a mile on the island. Madame Nell and I soon discovered that we had a host of common friends in New York and Washington, and that an uncle on her mother's side (poor Dick Whitney, who was lost on the _Ville de Havre_) had been a classmate of mine at Harvard forty odd years before. These kindly young people were as good and affectionate to me as though I had been a relative, and the heart of a lonely old man went out to them gratefully and lovingly.