Among the hundreds of young women streaming over the lawn they were clearly marked out by their carriage and their clothes--especially their clothes--as belonging to the fastidious cosmopolitan class, between whom and the young school-teachers from the West, in their white cotton blouses, leathern belts, and neat short skirts, the links were few.

Miss Floyd, indeed, was dressed with great simplicity.

A white muslin dress, _a la_ Romney, with a rose at the waist, and a black-and-white Romney hat deeply shading the face beneath--nothing could have been plainer; yet it was a simplicity not to be had for the asking, a calculated, a Parisian simplicity; while her companion, Mrs.Verrier, was attired in what the fashion-papers would have called a "creation in mauve." And Roger knew quite enough about women's dress to be aware that it was a creation that meant dollars.

She was a tall, dark-eyed, olive-skinned woman, thin almost to emaciation: and young Barnes noticed that, while Miss Floyd talked much, Mrs.Verrier answered little, and smiled less.

She moved with a languid step, and looked absently about her.