tage and having crossed it ran lightly up the steps to the wide
porch. From there she saw her father standing on the Point. She called
to him. At her hail he came trudging to the house. Betty was piling wood
in the living-room fireplace when he came in.

"I was beginning to worry about you," he said.

"The wind got too much for me," she answered, "so I put the boat on the
beach a mile or so along and walked home."

Gower drew a chair up to the fire.

"Blaze feels good," he remarked. "There's a chill in this winter air."

Betty made no comment.

"Getting lonesome?" he inquired after a minute. "It seems to me you've
been restless the last day or two. Want to go back to town, Betty?"

"I wonder why we come here and stay and stay, out of reach of everything
and everybody?" she said at last.

"Blest if I know," Gower answered casually. "Except that we like to.
It's a restful place, isn't it? You work harder at having a good time in
town than I ever did making money. Well, we don't have to be hermits
unless we like. We'll go back to mother and the giddy whirl to-morrow,
if you like."

"We might as well, I think," she said absently.

For a minute neither spoke. The fire blazed up in a roaring flame.
Raindrops slashed suddenly against the windows out of a storm-cloud
driven up by the wind. Betty turned her eyes on her father.

"Did you ever do anything to Jack MacRae that would give him reason to
hate you?" she asked bluntly.

Gower shook his head without troubling to look at her. He kept his face
steadfastly to the fire.

"No," he said. "The other way about, if anything. He put a crimp in me
last season."

"I remember you said you were going to smash him," she said
thoughtfully.

"Did I?" he made answer in an indifferent tone. "Well, I might. And then
again I might not. He may do the smashing. He's a harder proposition
than I figured he would be, in several ways."

"That isn't it," Betty said, as if to herself. "Then you must have had
some trouble with his father--long ago. Something that hurt him enough
for him to pass a grudge on to Jack. What was it, daddy? Anything real?"

"Jack, eh?" Gower passed over the direct question. "You must be getting
on. Have you been seeing much of that young man lately?"

"What does that matter?" Betty returned impatiently. "Of course I see
him. Is there any reason I shouldn't?"

Gower picked up a brass poker. He leaned forward, digging aimlessly at
the fire, stirring up