why, of course! you came down here to run
away from all the women. Miss Ruth said this mornin' she was told--I
don't know who by--that the lightkeeper was a woman-hater. Are you the
woman-hater, Seth?"

Mr. Atkins looked at the floor. "Yes, I be," he answered, sullenly. "Do
you wonder?"

"I don't wonder at your runnin' away; that I should have expected. But
there," more briskly, "this ain't gettin' us anywhere. You're here--and
I'm here. Now what's your idea of the best thing to be done, under the
circumstances?"

Seth shifted his feet. "One of us better go somewheres else, if you ask
me," he declared.

"Run away again, you mean? Well, I sha'n't run away. I'm Miss Ruth's
housekeeper for the summer. I answered her advertisement in the Boston
paper and we agreed as to wages and so on. I like her and she likes me.
Course if I'd known my husband was in the neighborhood, I shouldn't have
come here; but I didn't know it. Now I'm here and I'll stay my time out.
What are you goin' to do?"

"I'm goin' to send in my resignation as keeper of these lights. That's
what I'm goin' to do, and I'll do it to-morrow."

"Run away again?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why? WHY? Emeline Bascom, do you ask me that?"

"I do, yes. See here, Seth, we ain't children, nor sentimental young
folks. We're sensible, or we'd ought to be. Land knows we're old enough.
I shall stay here and you ought to. Nobody knows I was your wife or that
you was my husband, and nobody needs to know it. We ain't even got
the same names. We're strangers, far's folks know, and we can stay
strangers."

"But--but to see each other every day and--"

"Why not? We've seen each other often enough so that the sight won't be
so wonderful. And we'll keep our bein' married a secret. I sha'n't boast
of it, for one."

"But--but to SEE each other--"

"Well, we needn't see each other much. Why, we needn't see each other
any, unless I have to run over to borrer somethin', same as neighbors
have to every once in a while. I can guess what's troublin' you; it's
young Brown. You've told him you're a woman-hater, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have."

"Humph! Is he one, too?"

The lightkeeper's mouth was twisted with a violent emotion. He
remembered his view of that afternoon's swimming lesson.

"He said he was," he snarled. "He pretends he is."

Mrs. Bascom smiled. "I want to know," she said. "Umph! I thought . . .
However, it's no matter. Perhaps he is. Anyhow he can pretend to be a