“You are weary now, darling; we must go in,” said her father, watching with jealous eyes the snow-white and crimson clouds which lay on the horizon, just above the foaming waves.
“There are some people here from L—,” said Miss Vernon, as she and Mr. Wyman sat together on the piazza the next morning, watching the changing sea.
“Ah, who are they; any of our friends?”
“I have never seen them at your house. Two ladies,—a Mrs. Foster and sister. Do you know them?”
“I know that there are such people in L—. When did they arrive? I have not seen them.”
“Last evening; but you do not look particularly pleased. Will they disturb you?”
“I do not mean they shall, although they are busybodies, and know every one's affairs better than their own.”
“So I judged by their conversation last evening, which I could not but overhear, as they talked so loud, their room being next to mine, and their door open.”
“Of whom were they speaking?”
“Of a Mr. and Mrs. Deane. I think I have heard you allude to them.”