A Dangerous Flirtation
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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 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."
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 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."