realizing that to fall in with Cosden's mood was easier than to explain
his own.

"She's twenty--just the right age for a man thirty-eight," was the
complacent reply. "I've figured it all out. A woman grows old faster
than a man, and eighteen years is just the proper handicap."

"Which is her husband?" Huntington asked.

"Her husband?" Cosden repeated after him.

"I mean her mother's husband," Huntington corrected hastily; "which one
is Mr. Thatcher?"

"The man with the smooth face; I don't know the others. We'll meet them
later."

As the party left the dining-room Mr. Thatcher recognized Cosden and
fell behind to greet him.

"Well met!" he exclaimed cordially, after being presented to Huntington.
"It is a relief to see some one I know. Down here on a vacation trip, I
suppose?"

"Why--yes," Cosden hesitated, seeing some deeper meaning behind the
bromidic question; "that is, I thought so until I saw you. Now I'm not
quite sure."

Thatcher laughed. "I had the same idea, but I can't seem to get away
from business; it pursues me! I've stumbled onto something--not very
tremendous, but still it may be a good thing. I'd be glad to have you
look it over with me if you care to. We'll discuss it later if you don't
object to talking shop during leisure hours."

Cosden's face assumed that keen, resourceful expression which his
friends knew so well. "I'm never too much at leisure to discuss
business," he said.

"Good! Now, when you and Mr. Huntington have finished dinner, join us on
the piazza and we'll all have our coffee together."

Huntington looked at his friend significantly as Thatcher moved away. "I
didn't come down here on a business trip," he suggested.

"It won't interfere with you at all," Cosden reassured him. "Thatcher is
a big man, and has a good eye for things. What he has in mind may be
well worth looking into."

"So long as you don't let it divert us from our main purpose I won't
object," Huntington conceded gravely; "but the spirit of the chase is on
me, and I can't mix sport and business. This is the first time I have
ever approached a girl from a matrimonial point of view, even
vicariously. I'm beginning to enjoy it and I refuse to be thrown off the
scent."

* * * * *

There is no moon like a Bermuda moon. The contrast between its soft yet
brilliant light--as it fell first upon the harbor, throwing the islands
into silhouette, then flooding the piazza--and the