There was a long silence, during which each pursued a widely different
line of thought.

"We have got a newspaper at the Cove now," announced Guinevere. "It's an
awful nice paper, called 'The Opp Eagle.'"

"Opp?" repeated Hinton. "Oh, yes, that was the man I telephoned to. What
sort of chap is he, anyhow?"

"He's awfully smart," said Guinevere, her cheeks tingling. "Not so much
book learning, but a fine brain. The preacher says he's got a natural
gift of language. You ought to see some of his editorials."

"Hiding his light under a bushel, isn't he?"

"That's just it," said Guinevere, glad to expatiate on the subject. "If
Mr. Opp could get in a bigger place and get more chances, he'd have a
lot more show. But he won't leave Miss Kippy. She's his sister, you
know; there is only the two of them, and she's kind of crazy, and has to
have somebody take care of her. Mother thinks it's just awful he don't
send her to an asylum, but I know how he feels."

"Is he a young man?" asked Mr. Hinton.

"Well--no, not exactly; he's just seventeen years and two months older
than I am."

"Oh," said Hinton, comprehensively.

There was another long pause, during which Guinevere turned things over
in her mind, and Mr. Hinton knocked the ashes from his pipe.

"I think girls seem a good deal older than they are, don't you?" she
asked presently.

"Some girls," Hinton agreed.

"How old would you take me for?"

"In the dark?"

"Yes."

"About twelve."

"Oh, that's not fair," said Guinevere. "I'm eighteen, and lots of people
take me for twenty."

"That is when they can see you," said Hinton.

Guinevere decided that she did not like him. She leaned back in her
corner and tried not to talk. But this course had its disadvantage, for
when she was silent he seemed to forget she was there.

Once he took a turn up and down the deck, and when he came back, he
stood for a long time leaning over the rail and gazing into the water.
As he turned to sit down she heard him mutter to himself:

"... That no life lives forever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea."

Guinevere repeated the words softly to herself, and wondered what they
meant. She was still thinking about them when a dim red light in the
distance told her they were approaching the Cove. She slipped off the
heavy overcoat and began to put on her gloves.

"Hello! we are getting in, are we?" asked Hinton,