"Oh, of course," echoed Philip Ravenswood, with the slow drawl habitual to him. "They are called at Newport 'The Three Graces.' The blonde fairy to the right is Lily Ryder, an ex-governor's daughter. The bewitching girl in the center of the group is Miss Hildegarde Cramer, a banker's daughter; and, by the way, she's one of the jolliest girls that ever dazzled a fellow's wits as well as his eyes—looks more bewitching every time you see her."
"But who is the other young girl?" interrupted his companion, impatiently. "According to my ideas of feminine loveliness, she's far the prettiest of the three."
"Hold on, my dear Royal Ainsley, lest you provoke a duel here and now. Remember, that trio contains the peerless Hildegarde," laughed Philip Ravenswood, relighting a fresh Havana.
"All allowance made for difference of opinion," smiled Ainsley; "but really, Phil, who is the dark-eyed beauty this way?"
Little dreaming of what would come of those few idly spoken words, Philip Ravenswood answered, carelessly:
"Her name is Ida May. She's the only living relative of the Mays of Boston, I understand. I do not know the Mays personally, but know them well by reputation. They are fabulously rich, it is generally believed."
"Suppose you introduce me to the Three Graces," said Royal Ainsley, banteringly.
His companion flushed, and looked a trifle uncomfortable.
"At another time, my dear fellow," he said, answering Ainsley's question after a moment's pause. "Let the girls enjoy their rhapsodies over the sunset in peace this time. We really haven't time just now. The fellows are waiting for us at the club, you know."
But Ainsley refused to go on; yet he did it in such a gay, off-hand, rollicking, fun-loving fashion, his friend did not see the fixed purpose in his action.