I think it's awfully good fun myself--some of the artistic set, you know, any pretty actress that's going, and so on.

This week, for instance, they have Audrey Anstell, who made such a hit last spring in 'The Winning of Winny'; and Paul Morpeth--he's painting Mattie Gormer--and the Dick Bellingers, and Kate Corby--well, every one you can think of who's jolly and makes a row.

Now don't stand there with your nose in the air, my dear--it will be a good deal better than a broiling Sunday in town, and you'll find clever people as well as noisy ones--Morpeth, who admires Mattie enormously, always brings one or two of his set." Mrs.Fisher drew Lily toward the hansom with friendly authority.

"Jump in now, there's a dear, and we'll drive round to your hotel and have your things packed, and then we'll have tea, and the two maids can meet us at the train." It was a good deal better than a broiling Sunday in town--of that no doubt remained to Lily as, reclining in the shade of a leafy verandah, she looked seaward across a stretch of greensward picturesquely dotted with groups of ladies in lace raiment and men in tennis flannels.

The huge Van Alstyne house and its rambling dependencies were packed to their fullest capacity with the Gormers' week-end guests, who now, in the radiance of the Sunday forenoon, were dispersing themselves over the grounds in quest of the various distractions the place afforded: distractions ranging from tennis-courts to shooting-galleries, from bridge and whiskey within doors to motors and steam-launches without.
Lily had the odd sense of having been caught up into the crowd as carelessly as a passenger is gathered in by an express train.