d quietly, "the best friend I have in the world. How
much that means to me I will tell you one day."

"That's right," she said gaily, settling herself down with her hands
folded behind her head. "Now for the situation. I'm all attention."

"Well," he answered, "the situation is simple enough--it's the next
move that's puzzling me. There was, four days ago, an explosion--it
was after breakfast--a family council--and I was in a minority of one.
I was accused of a good many things--going down to the Cove, paying no
attention to the Miss Ponsonbys, and so on. They attacked me as I
thought unfairly, and I lost control--on the whole, I am sure, wisely.
I wasn't very rude, but I said quite plainly that I should go my own
way in the future and would be dictated to by no one. At any rate they
understand that."

"And now?"

"Ah, now--well--it's as you would expect. We are quite polite but
hostile. Robin and I don't speak. The new game--Father and Son; or
how to cut your nearest relations with expedition and security." He
laughed bitterly.

"Oh, I should like to shake him!" she cried, sitting up and flinging
her arms wide, as though she were saluting the sea. "He doesn't know,
he doesn't understand! Neither himself nor any one else. Oh, I will
talk to him some day! But, do you know," she said, turning round to
him, "it's been largely your fault from the beginning."

"Oh, I know," he answered. "If I had only seen then what I see now.
But how could I? How could I tell? But I always have been that kind
of man, all my days--finding out things when it's too late and wanting
to mend things that are hopelessly broken. And then I have always been
impulsive and enthusiastic about people. When I meet them first, I
mean, I like them and credit them with all the virtues, and then, of
course, there is an awakening. Oh, you don't know," he said, with a
little laugh, "how enthusiastic I was when I first came back."

"Yes, I do," she answered; "that was one of the reasons I took to you."

"But it isn't right," he said, shaking his head. "I've always been
like that. It's been the same with my friendships. I've rated them
too highly. I've expected everything and then cried like a child
because I've been disappointed. I can see now not only the folly of
it, but the weakness. It is, I suppose, a mistake, caring too much for
other people, one loses one's self-respect."

"Yes," she said, staring out to sea, "it's qui