At dinner, Burnham and Salisbury took seats opposite the ladies, and were honored with an introduction to papa and mamma, a very dignified, heavy, rosy, old-school couple, who ate a good deal, and said very little. That evening, when flute and viol wooed the lotos-eaters to agitate the light fantastic toe, these young gentlemen found themselves in dancing humor, and revolved themselves into a grievous condition of glow and wilt, in various mystic and intoxicating measures with their new-made friends.
On retiring, somewhat after midnight, Miss Thurston paused, while "doing her hair," and addressed Miss Chapman.
"Did you observe, Hattie, how very handsome those gentlemen are? Mr. Burnham looks like a prince of the sang azur, and Mr. Salisbury like his poet-laureate."
"Yes, dear," responded Hattie; "I have been considering those flowers of the field and lilies of the valley."
"Ned," said Charley, at about the same time, "we won't find anything nicer here, this season, I think."
"They're pretty well worth while," replied Ned; "and I'm rather pleased with them."
"Which do you like best?"
"Oh, bother! I haven't thought of that yet."
The next day the young men delayed their "constitutional" until the ladies were ready to walk, and the four strolled off together, mamma and the children following in the pony-chaise. At the rocks on the end of the point, Ned got his feet very wet, fishing up specimens of sea-weed for the damsels; and Charley exerted himself superhumanly in assisting them to a ledge which they considered favorable for sketching-purposes.
In the afternoon a sail was arranged, and they took dinner on board the boat, with any amount of hilarity and a good deal of discomfort. In the evening, more dancing, and vigorous attentions to both the young ladies, but without a shadow of partiality being shown by either of the four.