he
wind whistled as if the wooden figure in the front yard had suddenly come
to life and was madly making up for the silence of a half-century.

So George had followed her. He had found her out, and there was no way
of escape. She would have to see him, hear him. She would have to set
herself against the charm of that quick voice, those sparkling eyes.
There would be no one to save her now. Randy was far away. She must
make her fight alone.

She turned restlessly. Why should she fight? What, after all, did
George mean to her? A chain of broken dreams? A husk of golden armor?
_Georgie-Porgie_--who had kissed and run away.

She was listless at breakfast. The storm was over, and the Admiral was
making plans for a picnic the next day to Altar Rock. "Hot coffee and
lobster sandwiches, and a view of the sea on a day like this."

Becky smiled. "Grandfather," she said, "I believe you are happy because
you keep your head in the stars and your feet on the ground."

"What's the connection, my dear?"

"Well, lobster sandwiches and a view of the sea. So many people can't
enjoy both. They are either lobster-sandwich people, or view-of-the-sea
people."

"Which shows their limitations," said the Admiral, promptly; "the people
of Pepys' time were eloquent over a pigeon pie or a poem. The good Lord
gave us both of them. Why not?"

It was after breakfast that a note was brought to Becky. The boy would
wait.

"I am here," George wrote, "and I shall stay until I see you. Don't put
me off. Don't shut your heart against me. I am very unhappy. May I
come?"

She wrote an immediate answer. She would see him in the afternoon. The
Admiral would be riding over to Nantucket. He had some business affairs
to attend to--a meeting at the bank. Jane would be busy in her kitchen
with the baking. The coast would be clear. There would be no need, if
George came in the afternoon, to explain his presence.

Having dispatched her note, and with the morning before her, she was
assailed by restlessness. She welcomed Archibald Cope's invitation from
the adjoining porch. He sang it in the words of the old song,

"Madam, will you walk?
Madam, will you talk?
Madam, will you walk and talk
With me----"

"Where shall we go?"

"To Sankaty----"

She loved the walk to the lighthouse. In the spring there was Scotch
broom on the bluffs--yellow as gold, with the blue beyond. In summer
wild roses, deep pink, scenti