called the day before we came away, he asked a lot of questions
about Newport, about horses and polo and golf, and all that, and were the
roads good. And then, 'Do you bike, Miss Mavick?'

"I pretended not to understand, and said I was still studying with my
governess and I hadn't got all the irregular verbs yet. For once, he
looked quite blank, and after a minute he said, 'That's very good, you
know!' McDonald, I just hate him. He makes me so uneasy."

"But don't you know, child," said Miss McDonald, laughing, "that we are
required to love our enemies?"

"So I would," replied the girl, quickly, "if he were an enemy and would
keep away. Ah, me! McDonald, I want to ask you something. Do you
suppose he would hang around a girl who was poor, such a sweet, pretty,
dear creature as Alice Maitland, who is a hundred times nicer than I am?"

"He might," said Miss McDonald, still quizzically. "They say that like
goes to like, and it is reported that the Duke of Tewkesbury is as good
as ruined."

"Do be serious, McDonald." The girl nestled up closer to her and took
her hand. "I want to ask you one question more. Do you think--no, don't
look at me, look away off at that sail do you-think that, if I had been
poor, Mr. Burnett would have seen me only twice, just twice, all last
season?"

Miss McDonald put her arm around Evelyn and clasped the little figure
tight. "You must not give way to fancies. We cannot, as life is
arranged, be perfectly happy, but we can be true to ourselves, and there
is scarcely anything that resolution and patience cannot overcome. I
ought not to talk to you about this, Evelyn. But I must say one thing: I
think I can read Philip Burnett. Oh, he has plenty of self-esteem, but,
unless I mistake him, nothing could so mortify him as to have it said
that he was pursuing a girl for the sake of her fortune."

"And he wouldn't!" cried the girl, looking up and speaking in an unsteady
voice.

"Let me finish. He is, so I think, the sort of man that would not let
any fortune, or anything else, stand in the way when his heart was
concerned. I somehow feel that he could not change--faithfulness, that
is his notion. If he only knew--"

"He never shall! he never shall!" cried the girl in alarm--"never!"

"And you think, child, that he doesn't know? Come! That sail has been
coming straight towards us ever since we sat here, never tacked once.
That is omen enough for one day. See how the light strikes it. Come!"