ath; then she
vented her feelings by plunging headlong into the next wave and swimming
off as fast as she could. Instead of making his bow and then beating the
decorous retreat of an eccentric recluse, Mr. Gifford Barrett, the
composer of the _Alan Breck Overture_, had deposited his tall form in his
rose-colored bathing suit on the sand at Theodora's feet.

"No; I thought I wouldn't go in to-day," she said. "I don't care very
much about it, when the surf is running so high."

"Your sister doesn't seem to mind any amount of surf," Mr. Barrett said,
glancing at Phebe.

Coming nearer him, one saw that his brown eyes were frank and kindly,
that his face was attractive when he smiled. Theodora liked him
unreservedly; she even began to remember him a little, in a vague sort
of way, and she hoped that Phebe would be in one of her more lenient
moods. In vain.

"Yes, I like to swim," Phebe said briefly.

"Evidently, for no one could swim as you do, without enjoying it," Mr.
Barrett observed, with an enthusiasm which was almost boyish.

"Mr. Drayton swims magnificently, and he hates it."

"Is this your first season here at Quantuck?"

"Yes."

Under cover of her gown Theodora gave Phebe a furtive poke. Phebe turned
abruptly and stared at her.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well what?" Theodora said, with a smile.

"What did you want? You poked me; didn't you?"

"I beg your pardon. Did I hit you? I get stiff with so long sitting
still. Is Quantuck an old ground of yours, Mr. Barrett?"

"No; I am a stranger here. Your little nephew is the first friendly face
I have seen."

"I hope you will be neighborly at the Lodge, then. It is just on the edge
of the bluff, and the latch-string is always out. So are we, for that
matter. We spend most of our time down here, all of us but Phebe. She
infests the golf links."

"You are a golf enthusiast, then Miss McAlister?"

"Yes. Aren't you?"

"No; not just now, at least. Have they good links here?"

"Very." Phebe rose as she spoke.

"Where are you going, Babe?" Hope asked.

"Down to take one more plunge, then back to the house. I'm going out
early this afternoon, and I must be ready."

Theodora's next remark fell upon empty ears. Gifford Barrett was watching
Phebe as she went away, admiring her tall, lithe figure, her well-set
head, and wondering why in the name of all that was musical this girl
should snub him so roundly. He searched his mind in vain for some just
cause of pe