kit, with breeches and brown top boots. A man's
straw hat sat squarely on her little head and there was a brown and
white spotted tie under her white silk collar. Color danced on her
cheeks, health sparkled in her eyes and there was a laugh of sheer high
spirits floating behind her like the blown petals of a daisy.

"Perfectly wonderful," she said. "I love the country about here, with
the little oaks and sturdy ferns. It's so springy. And aren't the
chestnut trees in the village a sight for the blind? I don't wonder you
built a house in Easthampton, Mr. Hosack. Are we too late for tea?"

Hosack ran his eyes over her and blinked a little as though he had
looked at the sun. "Too late by an hour," he said, with a sulky glance
at young Oldershaw. "I thought you were never coming back." His
resentment of middle age and jealousy of the towering youth of the
sun-tanned lad who had been Joan's companion were a little pitiful.

Harry caught his look and laughed with the sublime audacity of one who
believes that he ranks among the Immortals. To him forty-nine seemed to
be a colossal sum of years, almost beyond belief. It was pathetic of
this old fellow to imagine that he had any right to the company of a
girl so springlike as Joan. "If we hadn't worn the horses to a
frazzle," he said, "we shouldn't have been back till dark. Have a
drink, Joan?"

"Yes, water. Buckets of it. Hurry up, Harry."

The boy, triumphant at being in favor, swung away, and Joan flung her
crop on to a cane sofa. "Where's everybody?" she asked.

"What's it matter," said Hosack. "Sit here and talk to me for a change.
I've hardly had a word with you all day." He caught her hand and drew
her into the swinging hammock. "What a pretty thing you are," he added,
with a catch in his breath. "I know," said Joan. "Otherwise, probably,
I shouldn't be here, should I?" She forgot all about him, and an
irresistible desire to tease, at the sight of the sea which, a stone's
throw from the house, pounded on the yellow sweep of sand and swooped
up in large half circles of glistening water. "I've a jolly good mind
to have another dip before changing. What do you say?"

"No, don't," said Hosack, a martyr to the Forty-nine-feeling.
"Concentrate on me for ten minutes, if only because, damn it, I'm your
host."

Joan pushed his hand away. "I've given up concentrating," she said. "I
gave it a turn a little while ago, but it led nowhere, so why worry?
I'm on the good old Mer