Mrs. Muir uttered a disappointed protest.  “Oh, Madge, how plainly you are dressed!”

“I knew you wouldn’t like it at first,” was the quiet reply.  By the time they had reached the parlor door opposite the office, near which they proposed to wait for the travellers, now momentarily expected, Mrs. Muir was compelled to acknowledge the correctness of Madge’s taste.  Her costume no more distracted attention from herself than would the infolding calyx of a rosebud.  In its exquisite proportions her fine figure was outlined by close white drapery, which made her appear taller than she really was.  A single half-open Jacqueminot rose, like the one she had sent to Graydon at their parting over two years since, was fastened on her bosom.  Her dark eyes burned with a suppressed excitement.  Her complexion, if not so white as that of Miss Wildmere, was pure, and had a richer hue of health.  But she was pale now.  Her red lips half destroyed their exquisite curves in firm compression.  The moment had not quite come for action, when those lips must be true to herself, true to her purpose, even while they spoke words which might be misleading to others.

Mrs. Muir, with triumph, saw the glances of strong admiration turned toward her sister from every side.  Madge saw them also, but only to read in them the verdict she hoped to obtain from the kind blue eyes for whose coming she waited.

Standing with Mrs. Muir, facing the long hall down which Graydon must advance, she knew she would see him before he could recognize her.  How much of longing, of breathless interest, would be concentrated in those moments of waiting, she herself had never imagined till they were passing.

The stages began to arrive, with consequent bustle, and the hasty advance toward the office of men seeking to register their names early, in order to secure a choice of rooms.  At last she saw Graydon’s tall form and laughing face, and for a second something approaching to faintness caused her to close her eyes.  When she opened them again they rested upon Miss Wildmere.

This young lady understood the art of making an impressive and almost triumphal entry on new scenes.  Therefore she had been in no haste.  Indeed, haste had no place among her attributes:  it was ungraceful and usually not effective.  When, therefore, the crowd had passed on, and there was a comparatively clear space in the hall, she advanced down it at Graydon’s side as if her mind was wholly engrossed with their lively chat.  Never for a second was she unconscious of the attention they attracted.  Graydon was one at whom even men would turn and look as he passed, and she believed that there was none other who could keep step with him like herself.  So thought the self-appointed committee of reception who always regard curiously the new-comers at a summer resort, and there were whispered notes of admiration as the two paused for a moment before the register and looked back.