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Downtown that summer there was nothing exciting going on. The market stood still upon very small transactions, and there was no real work for any one but the book-keepers. The more Fitz saw of the science of addition the less he thought of it, but he did what he had to do (no more) and drew his pay every Saturday with pride. Once, there being a convenient legal holiday to fatten the week-end, he went to Newport with Carrol and got himself so much liked by all the Carrol family that he received and accepted an invitation to spend his long holiday with them. He and Carrol had arranged with the powers to take their two weeks off at the same time–from the fifteenth to the end of August. And during business hours they kept their heads pretty close together and did much plotting and planning in whispers.

But Mrs. Carrol herself was to have a finger in that vacation. The presence in her house of two presentable young men was an excellent excuse for paying off dinner debts and giving a lawn party and a ball. Even at Newport there are never enough men to go round, and with two whole ones for a basis much may be done. The very night of their arrival they “ran into” a dinner-party, as Carrol expressed it. It was a large dinner; and the young men, having got to skylarking over their dressing (contrary to Mrs. Carrol’s explicit orders) descended to a drawing-room already full of people. Carrol knew them all, even the famous new beauty; but Fitz–or James Holden, rather–had, except for the Carrols, but a nodding acquaintance with one or two of the men. He felt shy, and blushed very becomingly while trying to explain to Mrs. Carrol how he and Wilson happened to be so unfortunate as to be late.

“Well,” she said, “I’m not going to punish you this time. You are to take Miss Burton in.”

“Which is Miss Burton?” asked Fitz, on whose memory at the moment the name made no impression.

“Do you see seven or eight men in the corner,” she said, “who look as if they were surrounding a punch-bowl?”

“Miss Burton is the punch-bowl?” he asked.

“All those men want to take her in,” said Mrs. Carrol, “and you’re going to make them all very jealous.”

Dinner was announced, and Mrs. Carrol, with Fitz in tow, swept down upon the group of men. It parted reluctantly and disclosed, lolling happily in a deep chair, the most beautiful girl in the world. She came to her feet in the quickest, prettiest way imaginable, and spoke to Mrs. Carrol in the young Ellen Terry voice, with its little ghost of a French accent. Fitz did not hear what she said or what Mrs. Carrol answered. He only knew that his heart was thumping against his ribs, and that a moment later he was being introduced as Mr. Holden, and that Eve did not know him from Adam.

Presently she laid the tips of her fingers on his arm, and they were going in to dinner.

“I think Mrs. Carrol’s a dear,” said Fitz, “to give me you to take in and to sit next to. I always wanted people to like me, but now all the men hate me. I can feel it in the small of my back, and I like it. Do you know how you feel in spring–the day the first crocuses come out? That’s the way it makes me feel.”

She turned her great, smiling eyes upon him and laughed. The laugh died away. His young, merry face had a grim, resolved look. So his father looked at critical times.

“I thought you were joking–rather feebly,” she said.

“I don’t know,” said he, “that I shall ever joke again.”

“You make your mind up very quickly,” she said.

“The men of my family all do,” he said. “But it isn’t my mind that’s made up.”