"Of course you are surprised," Marian said, laughing consciously; "but if you think of it you must admit that Merry would make him an ideal wife, and I believe he would be a wonderful husband. Her interest has always been in men older than herself, and he is only now ready to enjoy his youth. Of course, it is only an idea, but stranger things than that have happened."

"Well," he said guardedly, sparring for time, "that may be the ultimate outcome; but first of all we must do a bit of humanizing. I would like to take him back to Boston to pay me a long visit if he would go. After that, we could see how things worked out."

"Splendid!" Marian exclaimed; "and being in Boston he would be nearer my Philip. That was the one suggestion which seemed to appeal to him when I tried to persuade him to leave Bermuda. He would be much more likely to accept the suggestion from you than from me. The boy is named for him, and I believe they could do much for each other."

"Capital!" echoed Huntington. "I know from experience how much a boy can do to keep an older man from thinking too much about himself. We are making progress. I will do my best to drag him away from here, and if I succeed we will arrange with Philip to take charge of that side of his education."

Marian smiled gratefully as she heard the plan put definitely into words. "You have relieved me of an oppressive burden," she said feelingly. "It is such a relief to talk the matter over with some one who really understands. Don't misjudge me by what I suggest about Merry.

I can't forget the closeness of those earlier relations, I can't forget my responsibility, and I shouldn't be true to myself if I failed to do all in my power to bring Philip Hamlen back to himself."

"His natural qualities and his helplessness form a strong appeal,"

Huntington replied evasively. "I shall be glad to a.s.sist in this socialistic experiment, Mrs. Thatcher, but I'm not quite sure that I am wholly sympathetic."

"You will see more reason in my suggestion after you know them both better," Marian said confidently, placing her hand within the one outstretched to her. "When you do, I am sure I shall have your cordial co-operation in bringing about the match."

"If you are right, I shall ask that my case be placed next upon the calendar."

"Willingly!" Mrs. Thatcher laughed. "I'll find a wife within a month."

"Heaven forbid!" he cried. "Unless--" he added slyly;--"unless you become a widow in the mean time!"

X

For some reason best known to himself Huntington did not confide to Cosden the fact that Mrs. Thatcher had suggested the possibility of a match between Merry and Hamlen. She had referred to it as "poetic justice"; perhaps Huntington, knowing his friend to be unsympathetic in his relations toward poetry in general, might fail to appreciate the present application, particularly since he himself, though possessing p.r.o.nounced fondness for the poets, had not fully risen to the idea. As a matter of fact, the suggestion shocked him no less than Cosden's business-like proposition concerning his own marriage. What were people thinking of, these days!

He looked forward to the morrow and to the sailing of the "Arcadian"

with a sense of partial relief, for Billy's boyish infatuation and Cosden's impatient demands for interference had considerably disturbed his tranquillity. Huntington was a man of action when he so elected, and he enjoyed doing things when they were of his own choice and could be done in his own time and way; but nothing annoyed him more than to be forced into action by another's choice or election. Now, just as he saw one disturbing element about to be eliminated, another of seemingly greater magnitude loomed up on the horizon, and he cordially wished himself back in Boston with nothing more serious than the east winds to worry him.

But no disturbing element was apparent in his face as he stepped out onto the piazza after his leisurely breakfast the following morning.

Glancing around, he discovered Cosden and Miss Stevens standing at the further corner, watching the hustle of the departing guests.

"You're just in time to witness the great event of the day," she greeted him as he joined them, pleased that she had Cosden and Huntington even temporarily to herself. "One of the best things they do down here is to arrange the sailings to New York at a time when one may see the boat off without getting up at all hours of the night."

Cosden started to speak and then paused, looking at her narrowly to make certain that by no possible construction could any answer of his be twisted into an invitation to drive to St. George's, or to some other point equally remote.

"Your remark shows that you and Mr. Huntington have much in common," he observed at length.

"Ability to sleep is an evidence of a clear conscience," she a.s.serted.

"Which explains my restless nights, and the necessity of making up my quota at the wrong end," Huntington said.

"But you come from New England, Mr. Huntington," Edith expostulated.

"I've always heard a lot about the New England conscience."

"I'll wager you never heard anything good about it," Huntington smiled.

"Does it ever really keep any one from doing the things he wants to do?"

she asked mischievously.

"No," Huntington answered gravely; "it simply makes him very uncomfortable while he's doing them."

"I thought your sleeplessness might be caused by anxiety lest that precious nephew of yours forget to take the boat this morning," Cosden remarked dryly.

Huntington was quietly amused. "How about you?" he asked.

"I'm here to throw him bodily on board at the first sign of any change of plan."

"You speak as if you had a grudge against the boy," Edith said, looking surprised.

"Not at all," Cosden demurred; "Billy is all right, but he covers too much territory. Since he landed I haven't been able to put my foot on the ground without stepping on him. His Alma Mater needs Billy more than I do, and, as Monty says, we alumni must be loyal to our Dear Mother."

"His Alma Mater will have to do without him for a few days longer unless he appears soon," Edith remarked calmly, pointing toward the dock. "The tender has just started and will be here at the pier in a moment."

Both men sprang to their feet.

"Where in the world can that boy be?" Huntington demanded with real concern.

"You go up to his room and I'll look around down here," Cosden said, taking command of the situation.

Huntington disappeared with astonishing alacrity, while his friend deserted Miss Stevens to pursue the search down-stairs.

"Why don't you find Miss Thatcher?" Cosden suggested, coming back to her as the idea struck him; "that will probably locate the boy."

"I'd rather watch the man-hunt from here," she retorted coolly. "I don't want to miss seeing you throw him bodily on board."

The tender came slowly alongside the "Princess" steps, taking on board the pa.s.sengers from the hotel. Cosden and Huntington both appeared from different directions as the gang-plank was drawn up and the little steamer's screw began to churn. Huntington was out of breath, but not empty-handed--he carried with him a bag which showed evidences of hectic packing, with pajama strings hanging out from the partially closed top.

"He hadn't even packed his things!" Huntington panted indignantly.

"Stay here a moment," Cosden said, leaving him standing irresolutely at the top of the stone steps, watching the stretch of water increase between the departing tender and the pier.

"Please turn this way," Edith called, leveling her camera at him from the piazza rail. "I want to be sure to get that suit-case into the picture."

"Wait until Connie comes back," Huntington begged.

At that moment a disheveled figure appeared running frantically up the "Princess" driveway.

"I've lost my boat!" Billy cried with well-simulated despair.

"You did it deliberately, you young rascal!" Huntington cried, aroused at last to exasperation.