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A NEWPORT AQUARELLE.
CHAPTER XII.
Gladys Carleton woke early on the morning after the ball, which had been, everybody said, the great success of the season. She could not sleep, as she usually did after a party, and after tossing for half an hour restlessly on her bed, she rang the bell for her maid, and stood looking out from the balcony of her pretty room, as she had done that morning on which she had promised to be the wife of Cuthbert Larkington. It was just such a morning as that had been, fresh, clear, and full of sunshine. But it was of another man than her fiancé that she was thinking,—the man who had suddenly returned to Newport from Colorado, and whose face she had not seen since she had become engaged to the Englishman. Then she
