Some of the ladies were doing fancy work with gay colored silks. Mrs. Harcourt always brought her embroidery frame to the piazza. Not that she did much needlework, but she thought it looked well to have it with her, even if she talked for hours, while the frame lay idle in her lap.
Someone said that the same piece of work was in the frame that was in it on the day of her arrival weeks before.
She had taken a seat at the far end of the piazza, and she now looked about her to see who might be near her.
A tall matron, standing at a short distance, turned, and seeing a large rocker behind Mrs. Harcourt, walked slowly over, and seated herself in it. She had just arrived, and so had not yet seen Gwen.
Here was a chance to talk to a listener who did not know her little daughter, and Mrs. Harcourt grasped it.
"You doubtless heard me telling the others how everyone loves my small girl," she said.
"Yes, I heard what you said," the woman replied, in a manner that implied her lack of interest, but Mrs. Harcourt did not notice that.
"Well, really, when you see Gwen, you will not wonder, for you, like everyone else, will enjoy her. She's so original."
Just at this point those who sat near the railing noticed two odd looking figures toiling up the rough-hewn stairway on the cliff.
Those who watched them turned to exchange amused glances, and then look toward Mrs. Harcourt.