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“Mr. Van Rensselaer Livingstone! Why so it is! How perfectly delightful! I know him very well, Uncle Hutchinson. He was in Nice the last winter we were there; and he broke the bank at Monaco; and he played that perfectly absurd trick on little Prince Sporetti: cut off his little black mustache when Prince Sporetti was–was not exactly sober, you know, and gummed on a great red mustache instead of it; and then, before the prince was quite himself again, took him to Lady Orrasby’s ball. All Nice was in a perfect roar over it. And they had a duel afterwards, and Mr. Livingstone–he is a wonderful shot–instead of hurting the little prince, just shot away the tip of his left ear as nicely as possible. Oh, he is a delightful man–and here he comes.” And Dorothy, half rising from her chair, and paying no more attention to Mr. Port’s kicks under the table than she did to his smothered verbal remonstrances, extended her well-shaped white hand in the most cordial manner, and in the most cordial tone exclaimed:

“Won’t you speak to me in English, Mr. Livingstone? We talked French, I think it was, the last time we met. And how is your friend Prince Sporetti? Has his ear grown out again? You know my uncle, I think? Mr. Hutchinson Port.”

Livingstone took the proffered hand with even more cordiality than it was given, and then extended his own to Mr. Port–who seemed much less inclined to shake it than to bite it.

“I think that we are justified in regarding ourselves as relations now, Miss Lee, since our cousins have married each other, you know. Quite a romance, wasn’t it? And how very jolly it is to meet you here–when I thought that you certainly were in Switzerland or Norway, or even over in that new place that people are going to in Roumania! I flatter myself that I always have rather a knack of falling on my feet, but, by Jove, I’m doing it more than usual this morning!”

Miss Lee seemed to be entirely unaware of the fact that her uncle was looking like an animated thunder-cloud. “It is just like a bit out of a delightful novel,” was her encouraging response. “A long, low, black schooner suddenly coming in from the seaward and anchoring close off shore, and the hero landing in a little boat just in time to slay the villain and rescue the beautiful bride. Of course I’m the beautiful bride, but my uncle is not a villain, but the very best of guardians–by-the-way, I don’t think that you know that poor dear mamma is dead, Mr. Livingstone? Yes, she died only a week or two after you left us. So you see you must be very nice to the villain–and you can begin your kind treatment of him by having lunch with him and with me too. Uncle Hutchinson was so pleased when he saw you come ashore. He said that we certainly must capture you, and he sent a man to bring some hot soup for you at once–here it is now.” And so it was, for Dorothy herself very thoughtfully had given the order that she now modestly attributed to her uncle.

And so in less than ten minutes from the moment when Mr. Port had informed Dorothy that Van Rensselaer Livingstone was a very objectionable person whom he desired to avoid, and whose introduction to her was not even to be thought of, they all three were lunching together in what to the casual observer seemed to be the most amicable manner possible.

VIII.

“I’ve run over to look up Mrs. Rattleton,” said Livingstone, as he discussed with evident relish the filet that Mr. Port charitably hoped would choke him. “Very likely you haven’t met her, for she’s only just got here. But you’ll like her, I know, for she’s ever so jolly. She’s promised to play propriety for me in a party that we want to make up aboard the yacht. The squadron won’t get down from New York for a week yet, and I’ve come up ahead of it so that we can have a cruise to the Shoals and back before the races. Of course, Miss Lee, you won’t fly in the face of Fate, after this providential meeting, by refusing to join our party; at least if you do you will make me wretched to the end of my days. And we will try to make you comfortable on board, sir,” he added, politely, turning to Mr. Port. “I have a tolerably fair cook, and ice isn’t the only thing in the ice-chest, I assure you.”