A Dangerous Atrophy

Three young girls, as fair as youth and beauty could make them, stood with arms twined about one another on the sands of Newport one hot August afternoon.

Neither of the trio could have been over seventeen. All three were dressed in white, and looked as delightfully cool, sweet and airy, with their floating white ribbons and wind-blown curls, as summer maidens can possibly look.

"If I were an artist, I would immortalize that glorious scene," cried Lily Ryder, her blue eyes sparkling with the fire of enthusiasm.

"And if I were an artist, I would paint you," cried a handsome, fair-haired young man sotto voce, who had stopped short in his stroll along the sands with his friend, to admire the three lovely young girls, feeling sure that his keen scrutiny would not be observed, they were gazing so intently out to sea.

"Who are they, Ravenswood?" he asked, eagerly, turning to his companion. "You know everyone at[6] Newport worth knowing, of course—'a golden key throws open all doors.'"

"Oh, of course," echoed Philip Ravenswood, with the slow drawl habitual to him. "They are called at Newport 'The Three Graces.' The blonde fairy to the right is Lily Ryder, an ex-governor's daughter. The bewitching girl in the center of the group is Miss Hildegarde Cramer, a banker's daughter; and, by the way, she's one of the jolliest girls that ever dazzled a fellow's wits as well as his eyes—looks more bewitching every time you see her."

"But who is the other young girl?" interrupted his companion, impatiently. "According to my ideas of feminine loveliness, she's far the prettiest of the three."

"Hold on, my dear Royal Ainsley, lest you provoke a duel here and now. Remember, that trio contains the peerless Hildegarde," laughed Philip Ravenswood, relighting a fresh Havana.

"All allowance made for difference of opinion," smiled Ainsley; "but really, Phil, who is the dark-eyed beauty this way?"

Little dreaming of what would come of those few idly spoken words, Philip Ravenswood answered, carelessly:

"Her name is Ida May. She's the only living relative of the Mays of Boston, I understand. I do not know the Mays personally, but know them well by reputation. They are fabulously rich, it is generally believed."

"Suppose you introduce me to the Three Graces," said Royal Ainsley, banteringly.

His companion flushed, and looked a trifle uncomfortable.

"At another time, my dear fellow," he said, answering[7] Ainsley's question after a moment's pause. "Let the girls enjoy their rhapsodies over the sunset in peace this time. We really haven't time just now. The fellows are waiting for us at the club, you know."

But Ainsley refused to go on; yet he did it in such a gay, off-hand, rollicking, fun-loving fashion, his friend did not see the fixed purpose in his action.

He was quite sure that if they stood there long enough they could not help attracting the attention of the pretty maidens, and there was no time like the present to meet them. In this surmise, he was quite correct. Attracted by the sound of voices almost behind them, Miss Ryder glanced around.

"Hildegarde—Ida!" she exclaimed, in a flutter of delighted surprise, "why, here is Mr. Ravenswood!"