sorts of things.
As for Aurora, her expression was, as always, unfathomable. Judah Cahoon
once compared her countenance to a pink china dish-cover, and it is hard
to read the emotions behind a dish-cover.

Miss Snowden spoke first.

"Oh!" she observed; and much may be expressed in that monosyllable.

Elizabeth spoke next. "Your book is there on the seat, Elvira," she
said, carelessly. "At least I suppose it is yours. It has your bookmark
in it."

Elvira simpered. "Yes," she affirmed, "it is mine. But I'm not in a
hurry, not a single bit of hurry. I _do_ hope we haven't _disturbed_
you."

"Not a bit, not a bit," said Sears, crisply. "Miss Elizabeth and I were
havin' a business talk, but we had finished. The coast is clear for you
now. Good afternoon."

"You're _sure_, Cap'n Kendrick? Aurora and I wouldn't interrupt a
_business_ talk for the _world_. And in such a romantic place, too."

As Sears and Elizabeth walked up the path from the summer-house the
voice of Mrs. Chase was audible--as usual very audible indeed.

"Elviry," begged Aurora, eagerly, "Elviry, what did he say to you? He
looked awful kind of put out when he said it."

The captain was "put out," so was Elizabeth apparently. The latter said,
"Oh, dear!" and laughed, but there was less humor than irritation in the
laugh. Sears's remark was brief but pointed.

"I like four-legged cats first-rate," he declared.

The next day at one o'clock he and his passenger, with the placid Foam
Flake as motor power, left the Fair Harbor together. And, as they drove
out of the yard, both were conscious that behind the shades of the
dining-room windows were at least six eager faces, and whispering
tongues were commenting, exclaiming and surmising.

The captain, for his part, forgot the faces and tongues very quickly. It
was a pleasant afternoon, the early fall days on the Cape are so often
glorious; the rain of a few days before had laid the dust, at least the
upper layer of it, and the woods were beginning to show the first
sprinklings of crimson and purple and yellow. The old horse walked or
jogged or rambled on along the narrow winding ways, the ancient buggy
rocked and rattled and swung in the deep ruts. They met almost no one
for the eight miles between Bayport and Orham--there were no roaring,
shrieking processions of automobiles in those days--and when Abial
Gould, of North Harniss, encountered them at the narrowest section of
highway, he steered his placi