"You positively mustn't stay here with me any longer," whispered Juliet.

"Go and devote yourself to her and keep them off for a little."

"Not on your life," Anthony returned "She can take care of herself. If I mix up in this fray you're likely to be husbandless. Lockwood and Roger are getting dangerous, and I'm going to keep on the outskirts where it's safe."

They were all upon the lawn--Rachel, unable to help herself, according to Anthony's intimation, the centre of a group of men who would not give each other a chance--when a stranger appeared upon the edge of the circle of light. He stood watching the scene for a moment--a tall, slender fellow, with a pale face and deep-set eyes. Then he asked somebody to tell Miss Redding that Mr. Huntington would like to speak with her. Rachel, thus summoned, rose, looked about her, caught sight of the stranger, and went swiftly down the lawn. A dozen people, among them all the men who had been the guests of the week, saw the meeting. They observed that the newcomer put out both hands, that his smile was very bright, and that he stood looking down into Miss Redding's face as if at sight of it he had instantly forgotten everything else in the world.

Rachel, leaving him, came back up the lawn to find her hostess. As she pa.s.sed it became evident to a good many pairs of sharp eyes that her beauty had received a keen accession from the sweeping over her cheeks of a burning blush--so unusual that they could not fail to take note of it.

Juliet came back down the lawn with Rachel, who presented Mr. Huntington; and presently, without a word of leave-taking to any one else, the two went away down the road.

"Now, who under the heavens was that?" grunted Louis Lockwood in Anthony's ear, catching his host around the corner of the house.

"Don't know."

"Brother, perhaps?"

"Hasn't any."

"Relative?"

"Don't know."

"Just a messenger, maybe?"

"Give it up."

"She blushed like anything."

"Did she? Man she is going to marry, probably."

"Oh, that can't be!"

"The lady looks marriageable to me," observed Anthony, strolling away.

He ran into Cathcart.

"Say, who was that fellow, Tony?" began Stevens.

"Don't ask me."

"He looked confoundedly as if he meant to embrace her on the spot."

"So he did," agreed Anthony soothingly. "Don't blame him, do you? He may not have seen her for a month. What condition do you suppose you'd be in if a week should get away from you out of her vicinity?"

"Bother you, Tony--don't you know who he was?"

"Intimate friend, I should judge."

"She turned pink as a carnation."

"Say hollyhock," suggested Anthony, "or peony. Only a vivid colour could do justice to it."

"That's right," groaned Cathcart. "She never looked like that for any of us."

"Never," said Anthony promptly, and got away, chuckling.

"Hold on, there, Robeson, man," said the voice of Dr. Roger Barnes, and Anthony found himself again held up.

"Come on, old Roger boy," said his host pleasantly. "We'll amble down the road a bit and give you a chance to get a grip on yourself. No, I don't know who he is. I'm all worn out a.s.suring Louis and Steve of that. She did turn red, she did look upset--with joy, I infer. That girl has made more havoc in one short week--playing off all the while, too--than Suzanne and Marie have accomplished in the biggest season they ever knew. And I believe, Roger boy, you're about the hardest hit of any of them."

The doctor did not answer. The two had walked away from the house and were marching arm in arm at a good pace down the road.

"She's as poor as a church mouse," suggested Anthony.

There was no reply.

"She has a dead weight of a helpless father and mother."

The doctor put match to a cigar.

"Juliet says her brother died of dissipation in a gambling-house."

Doctor Barnes began to chew hard on a cigar that he had failed to light.

"But she's a mighty sweet girl," said Anthony softly.

"See here, Tony," the doctor burst out.--"Oh, hang it all--"

"I see," said his friend, with a hand on his shoulder. "Go ahead, Roger Barnes--there's nothing in life like it; and the good Lord have mercy on you, for the sort of girl worth caring for doesn't know the meaning of the word."

"All gone, little girl," said Anthony jubilantly, as he turned back into the house the next evening, after watching out of sight the big touring-car of Lockwood's which had carried all his house-party away at once. "They are mighty fine people and I like them all immensely--but--I have enjoyed to the full this speeding the parting guest. And now for my vacation. It begins to-morrow."

"What shall we do?" asked Juliet, allowing him to draw her into his favourite settle corner.

"Go fishing. If you'll put up a jolly little--I mean a jolly big--lunch, and array yourself in unspoilable attire, I'll give you a day's great sport, whether we catch any fish or not. There's one fish you're sure of--he's always on the end of your line: hooked fast, and resigned to his fate. Juliet, are they really all gone?"

"I'm sure they are."

"Good Mary McKaim--peace be to her ashes, for she never gets any on the toast--has she gone, too?"

"She's packing."

"Rachel safe at home with her presumable fiance?"

"He can't be her fiance, Tony--"

"That's what Lockwood said--but I suppose he can, just the same. Rachel away, do you say?"