But what was that sound,—­that long-drawn, jubilant sound that suddenly rang over and above the dance music?

“Ta-ra, ta-ra, ta-ra-a-a-a,” rang the clear, piercing notes; and out from halls and offices and parlors came a little flock of folk to see that most interesting of arrivals at a summer resort,—­a coaching-party.  “Ta-ra, ta-ra, ta-ra-a-a-a,” wound the coach horn; and up the carriage drive rattled a superb vehicle, drawn by four superb gray horses.  The long summer daylight yet lingered, and showed the faces of the party atop of the coach.

“It’s the Pelham team, and that’s young Berk Pelham holding the reins,” said a bystander.

Dora and Amy Robson, who had run out with the others from the dancing-hall, caught Tom Raymond as he was passing them; and Dora whispered,—­

“Are they the Pelhams,—­Agnes’s Pelhams?”

“‘Agnes’s Pelhams’?  Oh, oh!” gurgled Tom, nearly choking with suppressed laughter.  Then, “Yes, yes, Agnes’s Pelhams; but where is Agnes?  She ought to be here to welcome her Pelhams.”

“She’s gone to bed with a headache or something.  She came in looking dreadfully a few minutes ago.”

“I should think she might; she had had a blow.”

“What do you mean?  But, look, look! those Pelhams are speaking to that Smith girl.”

“No, they’re not.”

“But they are, Tom; don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t see any of them speaking to a Smith girl, but I do see Miss Pelham speaking to—­Miss Peggy Pelham.”

Dora tossed her head impatiently.  “What a silly joke!” she thought; but—­but—­what was it that that tall young lady who had just jumped down from her top seat on the coach was saying?

“The minute I read your letter, Peggy, telling me of this little dance, Berk and I planned to drive over with the Apsleys and waltz a little waltz with you.  Twenty miles in an hour and a half.  Isn’t that fine time?  And you are looking so much better, Peggy, for the salt air, and away from all our racket.  Mamma was wise when she sent you on ahead with auntie, but we’re all coming to join you next week.”

“Tom, Tom, you were not joking?” gasped Dora.

“When I said that girl was Peggy Pelham?  Joking?  No, it’s a solid fact,—­so solid it’s knocked Agnes flat.  Oh!” and Tom began to shake again; “it’s too rich, it’s too rich.  Come over here away from the crowd, you and Amy, and let me tell you the whole story, and then you’ll see what a blow Agnes has had.”

Never had a narrator a more excitingly interesting story to tell, and never did narrator enjoy the telling more than Tom on this occasion; but though his hearers hung upon his words, these words were full of bitterness to them; and when at the close he flung his head back and said, “Isn’t it the greatest fun?” Dora, out of her shame and mortification, cried,—­

“Yes, fun to you,—­to you and Will and Tilly, because you are on the right side of the fun; but I—­we—­are disgraced of course with Agnes.  Oh, we’ve been just horrid—­horrid, and such fools!”