“Oh, no.  But we were very good friends.  She is a very handsome woman —­perhaps you would expect me to say handsome still; but that seems a sort of treason to her mature beauty.”

“And who else?”

“Oh, the Storbes from New Orleans, the Slifers from Mobile—­no end of people—­some from Philadelphia—­and Ohio.”

“Ohio?  Those Bensons!” said she, turning sharply on him.

“Yes, those Bensons, Penelope.  Why not?”

“Oh, nothing.  It’s a free country.  I hope, Stanhope, you didn’t encourage her.  You might make her very unhappy.”

“I trust not,” said King stoutly.  “We are engaged.”

“Engaged!” repeated Mrs. Glow, in a tone that implied a whole world of astonishment and improbability.

“Yes, and you are just in time to congratulate us.  There they are!” Mr. Benson, Mrs. Benson, and Irene were coming down the walk from the deer park.  King turned to meet them, but Mrs. Glow was close at his side, and apparently as pleased at seeing them again as the lover.  Nothing could be more charming than the grace and welcome she threw into her salutations.  She shook hands with Mr. Benson; she was delighted to meet Mrs. Benson again, and gave her both her little hands; she almost embraced Irene, placed a hand on each shoulder, kissed her on the cheek, and said something in a low voice that brought the blood to the girl’s face and suffused her eyes with tenderness.

When the party returned to the hotel the two women were walking lovingly arm in arm, and King was following after, in the more prosaic atmosphere of Cyrusville, Ohio.  The good old lady began at once to treat King as one of the family; she took his arm, and leaned heavily on it, as they walked, and confided to him all her complaints.  The White Sulphur waters, she said, had not done her a mite of good; she didn’t know but she’d oughter see a doctor, but he said that it warn’t nothing but indigestion.  Now the White Sulphur agreed with Irene better than any other place, and I guess that I know the reason why, Mr. King, she said, with a faintly facetious smile.  Meantime Mrs. Glow was talking to Irene on the one topic that a maiden is never weary of, her lover; and so adroitly mingled praises of him with flattery of herself that the girl’s heart went out to her in entire trust.

“She is a charming girl,” said Mrs. Glow to King, later.  “She needs a little forming, but that will be easy when she is separated from her family.  Don’t interrupt me.  I like her.  I don’t say I like it.  But if you will go out of your set, you might do a great deal worse.  Have you written to your uncle and to your aunt?”

“No; I don’t know why, in a matter wholly personal to myself, I should call a family council.  You represent the family completely, Penelope.”

“Yes.  Thanks to my happening to be here.  Well, I wouldn’t write to them if I were you.  It’s no use to disturb the whole connection now.  By the way, Imogene Cypher was at Newport after you left; she is more beautiful than ever—­just lovely; no other girl there had half the attention.”