A week had elapsed since Mrs. Burnside's visit to the Inglis girls; and it was again Saturday afternoon. It had been a week of absolutely tropical heat, exhausting to a degree; and Mr. Lang, noticing May's pale cheeks, had proposed a trip up the river in his steam-launch. So, with their mutual friends the Wingates, and some other people, they were now bound for an island some distance above Kingston, where they intended to land and have tea. After the scorching and crowded streets, the river, with its green, tree-shaded banks, was indeed a pleasant change; and, had she been free from care, May would have greatly enjoyed watching the numerous gay boats and launches filled with happy holiday-makers. But the presence of Mr. Lang--vulgar, fussy, and pretentious--spoiled everything, and she avoided him as much as possible, greatly to her aunt's disgust. The island at which they presently arrived was very small; and so crowded with people that at another time the scene would have amused May. They landed with some difficulty, amid the crowd of skiffs, punts, and canoes, which were moored to the banks; and had to walk warily, not to tread upon their late occupants, who were now grouped round every variety of tea equipage, arrayed in every kind of costume. One or two people, ostentatious like themselves, were attended by liveried servants to turn the whole thing into a burlesque; but the great mass had spread their tea with their own hands, and it was comical to see how their ideas of a picnic varied. Here would be a homely meal with thick enamelled tea-things, huge chunks of bread-and-butter, and shrimps or watercress for a relish. Next door would be an aristocratic party with a silver teapot, fairy-like china, expensive cakes, and fruit on artistic dessert plates. Here a stout materfamilias, purple with the heat, struggled to satisfy her hungry brood of eight with hastily buttered rolls; there a pair of lovers, oblivious of all else, sat partaking of nectar and ambrosia, in imagination a thousand miles away. Everywhere was good humour, laughter, and happiness. At last, after his usual bustle, Mr. Lang contrived to secure a vacant spot for his party; though not without an angry argument with some plainly dressed people who, with scant respect for African millionaires, declined to move their common delft tea-service to make way for his costly Dresden. Whilst the footman spread the cloth May sat abstractedly gazing over the sunlit river, when suddenly she caught a glimpse in an approaching boat of a figure which made her heart leap. Surely that stalwart young man in flannels, rowing two girls towards the island, was Harold Inglis! With consummate skill he steered his cockleshell craft to the bank, then helped his sisters out, and, carrying a basket, came to find a place to sit down.