anxious lest I should not be properly modest. Indeed, her wish that in
the eyes of the old ladies I should appear to advantage was so evident,
and her interest in me so proprietary, that I was far from unhappy.

The afternoon I spent in Fairharbor. From a real estate agent I obtained
keys to those cottages on the water-front that were for rent, and I
busied myself exploring them. The one I most liked I pretended I had
rented, and I imagined myself at work among the flower-beds, or with
my telescope scanning the shipping in the harbor, or at night seated
in front of the open fire watching the green and blue flames of the
driftwood. Later, irresolutely, I wandered across town to Harbor Castle,
this time walking entirely around it and coming upon a sign that read,
"Visitors Welcome. Do not pick the flowers."

Assuring myself that I was moved only by curiosity, I accepted the
invitation, nor, though it would greatly have helped the appearance of
the cemetery-like beds, did I pick the flowers. On a closer view Harbor
Castle certainly possessed features calculated to make an impecunious
author Stop, look, and listen. I pictured it peopled with my friends. I
saw them at the long mahogany table of which through the French window
I got a glimpse, or dancing in the music-room, or lounging on the wicker
chairs on the sweeping verandas. I could see them in flannels at tennis,
in bathing-suits diving from the spring-board of the swimming pool,
departing on excursions in the motor-cars that at the moment in front
of the garage were being sponged and polished, so that they flashed like
mirrors. And I thought also of the two-thousand-ton yacht and to what
far countries, to what wonderful adventures it might carry me.

But all of these pictures lacked one feature. In none of them did
Polly Briggs appear. For, as I very well knew, that was something the
ambitions of Mrs. Farrell would not permit. That lady wanted me as a son
only because she thought I was a social asset. By the same reasoning,
as a daughter-in-law, she would not want a shop-girl, especially not one
who as a shop-girl was known to all New Bedford. My mood as I turned my
back upon the golden glories of Harbor Castle and walked to New Bedford
was thoughtful.

I had telegraphed my servant to bring me more clothes and my Phoenix
car; and as I did not want him inquiring for Fletcher Farrell had
directed him to come by boat to Fall River. Accordingly, the next
morning, I t