"Did you see the new man on the beach, this morning?" Allyn asked, at
dinner, that noon.
"The new man, when there are new men here, every day in the week!"
Theodora's tone was one of amusement.
"Evidently you didn't see him, or you'd speak with more respect. He was a
duke in disguise, at the very least."
"Do you mean the man with the Frenchy beard, and his nose in the air?"
Cicely asked, with scant respect for the stranger's ducal appearance.
"Yes. Who was he?"
"I don't know. He acted as if he did the beach a favor in even
looking at it."
"He didn't look that way at Babe," Allyn remarked, with a chuckle. "I
thought sure he was going to applaud her, when she came stalking down
the beach."
"Babe does take the beach a good deal after the manner of Lady Macbeth,"
Lilly observed. "Where was your man, Allyn? I didn't see any titled
strangers of my acquaintance."
"He was just back of the Whitmans' awning for a long time. After that, he
came down to Mr. Drayton and talked to him. I didn't see him speak to
anybody else, though."
"Oh," Hubert said suddenly; "I know the man you mean, Allyn. There is a
good deal of him, too. Sam Asquith told me he had just come to the hotel.
He is a composer and hails from New York."
"What is his name?" Theodora asked rather indifferently.
"Gifford Barrett."
"Oh!" There was a clatter, as Cicely dropped her knife and fork and
clasped her hands in ecstasy.
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