A big red touring car had drawn up in front of the piazza. It was filled with young people, waving their hands and shouting, “Bertie! Oh, Bertie!” The other appeared to be startled. “Well, I'll be damned!” he muttered as he went to meet them. Of course Samuel had no business whatever to stand there. He should have fled in trepidation. But he, as a privileged person, had not yet been drilled into a realization of his “place.” And they were such marvelous creatures--these people of the upper world--and he was so devoured with the desire to know about them. There were two young men in the motor, of about his master's age, and nearly as goodly to look at. And there were four young women, of a quite extraordinary sort. They were beautiful, all of them--nearly as beautiful as Miss Gladys; and perhaps it was only the automobile costumes, but they struck one as even more alarmingly complex. They were airy, ethereal creatures, with delicate peach blow complexions, and very small hands and feet. They seemed to favor all kinds of fluffy and flimsy things; they were explosions of all the colors of the springtime. There were leaves and flowers and fruits and birds in their hats; and there were elaborate filmy veils to hold the hats on. They descended from the motor, and Samuel had glimpses of ribbons and ruffles, of shapely ankles and daintily slippered feet. They came in the midst of a breeze of merriment, with laughter and bantering and little cries of all sorts. “You don't seem very glad to see us, Bertie!” one said. “Cheer up, old chap--nobody'll tell on us!” cried one of the young men. “And we'll be good and go home early!” added another of the girls. One of the party Samuel noticed particularly, because she looked more serious, and hung back a little. She was smaller than the others, a study in pink and white; her dress and hat were trimmed with pink ribbons, and she had the most marvelously pink cheeks and lips, and the most exquisite features Samuel had ever seen in his life. Now suddenly she ran to young Lockman and flung her arms about his neck. “Bertie,” she exclaimed, “it's my fault. I made them come! I wanted to see you so badly! You aren't mad with us, are you?” “No,” said Bertie, “I'm not mad.” “Well, then, be glad!” cried the girl, and kissed him again. “Be a good boy--do!” “All right,” said Bertie feebly. “I'll be good, Belle.” “We wanted to surprise you,” added one of the young fellows. “You surprised me all right,” said Bertie--a reply which all of them seemed to find highly amusing, for they laughed uproariously. “He doesn't ask us in,” said one of the girls. “Come on, Dolly--let's see this house of his.” And so the party poured in. Samuel waited just long enough to catch the rustle of innumerable garments, and a medley of perfumes which might have been blown from all the gardens of the East. Then he turned and fled to the regions below.