“You have come to the country for rest and recuperation, Miss Marian?”

“Oh, what a word,—­’recuperation!’ It never entered my head that I had come into the country for that.  Do I suggest a crying need for recuperation?”

“I wouldn’t dare tell you all that you suggest to me, and I read more than you say between your lines.  When I approached the house you were chatting and laughing genially with your mother.”

“Oh, yes, mamma and I have as jolly times together as two girls.”

“That was evident, and it made a very pleasant impression on me.  One thing is not so evident, and it indicates a rather one-sided condition of affairs.  I could not prevent my thoughts from visiting you often to-day before I came myself, but I fear that among your June-day occupations there has not been one thought of me.”

She had only time to say, sotto voce, “Girls don’t tell everything,” when the maid announced, from the door, “Mr. Strahan.”

This second comer was a young man precociously mature after a certain style.  His home was a fine old place in the vicinity, but in his appearance there was no suggestion of the country; nor did he resemble the violet, although he was somewhat redolent of the extract of that modest flower.  He was dressed in the extreme of the prevailing mode, and evidently cultivated a metropolitan air, rather than the unobtrusive bearing of one who is so thoroughly a gentleman that he can afford to be himself.  Mr. Strahan was quite sure of his welcome, for he felt that he brought to the little cottage a genuine Madison-avenue atmosphere.  He was greeted with the cordiality which made Miss Vosburgh’s drawing-room one of the pleasantest of lounging-places, whether in town or country; and under his voluble lead conversation took the character of fashionable gossip, which would have for the reader as much interest as the presentation of some of the ephemeral weeds of that period.  But Mr. Strahan’s blue eyes were really animated as he ventured perilously near a recent scandal in high life.  His budget of news was interspersed with compliments to his hostess, which, like the extract on his handkerchief, were too pronounced.  Mr. Lane regarded him with politely veiled disgust, but was too well-bred not to second Miss Vosburgh’s remarks to the best of his ability.

Before long two or three more visitors dropped in.  One from the hotel was a millionnaire, a widower leisurely engaged in the selection of a second wife.  Another was a young artist sketching in the vicinity.  A third was an officer from West Point who knew Mr. Vosburgh.  There were also callers from the neighborhood during the evening.  Mrs. Vosburgh made her appearance early, and was almost as skilful a hostess as her daughter.  But few of the guests remained long.  They had merely come to enjoy a pleasant half-hour or more under circumstances eminently agreeable, and would then drive on and pay one or two visits in the vicinity.  That was the way in which nearly all Marian’s “friendships” began.