Miss Martha looked fixedly at the side of the house, her pen poised in her hand. She was weighing the question as to whether it would be well to mention to Selina Lane her niece's presence at Anemone Cottage. If she spoke of her, it might lead in future to embarra.s.sing questions; if she did not speak of her, Selina was liable to learn of Sylvia from some other source; for no way had yet been discovered of permanently concealing anything from Miss Lane, and that spinster, so fond of jumping at conclusions that she frequently overleaped them, would be sure to decide that Miss Martha was ashamed of her niece.

To tell or not to tell! She was still balancing her pen and the question when a firm tread crunched the gravel behind her, and turning she beheld a man advancing to the steps.

He was dressed in outing flannels, and his cap was presumably in his pocket. At least he had none on his head. Miss Lacey rose with a start and hurried to the steps.

"Why, Mr. Dunham, I was never so surprised in my life!" she exclaimed.

He smiled. "I was told that you would look more kindly upon a surprise party at ten in the morning than at ten at night," he answered.

His eyes were level with Miss Martha's as she stood two steps above him on the piazza, and he pressed her hard, little, unresponsive hand. But if her hand was hard her heart was not, and it was with much appreciation of the visitor's attractive personality that she urged him to take his choice of the piazza chairs.

"This is a great place," he remarked, as she fluttered back to her table, and he dropped on the piazza rail. "I've never been on the islands before,--only sailed past them."

"But how did you get here so early? Were you at the Island House all night?"

"Not at all. When Mr. Johnson returned on Friday he found Judge Trent and myself in possession. This morning I went out with Cap'n Lem to his pound, so was ready for an early start over here; and it surely is a great place."

Dunham looked off upon the rolling billows breaking in snow here and there above unseen ledges.

"Your clothes are wet. You had a rough sail."

"In spots, yes; but it's rather sheltered between here and the Tide Mill. You're looking well, Miss Lacey."

"Who wouldn't in such a place," she rejoined; "and just think, Mr.

Dunham, my niece is here."

"So I understand." The young man gave a tentative glance around at the house.

"Oh, they're not in. Miss Derwent is never in, unless it storms the way it did yesterday, and then she's liable to be in oilskins hanging on to some rock and scaring me out of my seven senses. Sylvia's just like her. They were both out yesterday."

"I'm glad to learn that your niece is strong enough for that," returned Dunham.

Miss Lacey made a gesture. "She did it, anyway." She lowered her voice to a confidential pitch. "Haven't things worked around wonderfully, Mr.

Dunham?" The speaker drew back, giving him a significant look.

"How do you mean?" asked Dunham cautiously.

"Since that day we were at Hotel Frisbie. I haven't dared look to see how many new gray hairs that week gave me, and here we are, all so calm and happy. Miss Derwent being so kind and hospitable to Sylvia, and none of my doings at all. You see, it would have been such an impossible thing for me to suggest that my niece should visit here, but it came around in the most natural way through Thinkright."

"It is fine," returned Dunham. Sylvia's name still meant for him only the dew-laden eyes that beseeched him as he left her at the a.s.sociation that day in Boston. He felt some curiosity as to how Miss Lacey had finally made her peace, and he felt sure that she would like to tell him; but the younger Miss Lacey's affairs were none of his.

"I'm sorry not to find Miss Derwent," he said.

"Oh, you'll find her," returned Miss Lacey briskly. "You will stay to dinner with us, of course."

"Certainly not," returned Dunham quickly.

"Why, you will. We have it at noon, you know."

"In these togs?" asked John incredulously--"Miss Derwent?"

"Oh, hers aren't any better," returned Miss Martha. "That's the island fashion."

"No,--I'll go to the--what did you say? There's some sort of a hotel here, isn't there?"

"Yes. Some sort," returned Miss Lacey, "but not your sort. Don't say another word about it, Mr. Dunham. Why, Miss Derwent would be scandalized,--an old friend like you. You said you were, didn't you?"

she added, with sudden questioning.

"Yes, so old that I shall be new," returned Dunham, smiling. "I only hope she'll remember me."

"Why didn't Judge Trent come with you? We should have been very pleased to see him at dinner, too," said Miss Lacey, with a little excess of formality.

"I did ask him, but he said he wasn't tired of terra firma yet."

"Has he come to stay?"

"Yes, for a while. We've locked up the offices and are going to forget dull care together. He's devoted to this region, isn't he?"

"Yes, and what is more interesting and wonderful--to Sylvia," returned Miss Martha, again dropping her voice as if there might be eavesdroppers in Arcady. "That is, he must be. He has given her the loveliest boat."

"I saw it the evening we came. Mr. Johnson was showing it to him."

"What did he say about its name?" eagerly.

"Its name?"

"Yes. The Rosy Cloud."

"Why,--nothing."

"Didn't Thinkright ask him anything?"

"Not that I remember."

"Has Judge Trent said anything to you about Sylvia?"

"Not a word."

Miss Lacey, who had been leaning forward, flung herself back in her chair.

"If there's anything exasperating on earth it's a man!" she exclaimed.

"Well"--for John laughed, "excuse me, Mr. Dunham, you can't help it; but men never know when anything is interesting. Now I can tell you just where you'll find those girls, and I'm going to let you go. You take that path through the woods, and it'll bring you into an open field, but you'll still see a path. Keep right on till if you took another step you'd fall about fifty feet and have to swim. There you'll find a huddle of ledges and ravines and brave little firs that have hooked their roots into the rock somehow, and there you'll find also a couple of girls who went down to write letters, and I know haven't written a word; and do keep an eye on your watch and get them here by quarter past one. Things are so much nicer when they are hot and good, and Edna is no more to be trusted than if she was five. If she happened to get to watching a barnacle eat its dinner she'd never once think of her own."

Just at present Miss Derwent was certainly not thinking of dinner. The tide was falling, and she and her companion were seated amid the sighing firs and watching its retreat; that is, Sylvia was watching, and Edna was reading aloud to her. At last Edna looked up from her book and leaned forward to look over the ledge.

"It is low enough," she said. "Let us go down there, Sylvia. I want to show you the pools."

Leaving their books and papers covered from the breeze with a shawl, the girls climbed down the rough rocks.