on the subject of our interview to
anyone. Business secrets, you know. Thank you, thank you. And I will see
you again--Thursday, shall we say?"

I refused to say Thursday, principally because he had said it first. I
suggested Saturday instead. He agreed, shook hands as if I were an old
friend from whom he parted with regret, and left me.

No, I did not like Mr. Keene. He was too polite and too familiar. And,
as I thought over his words, the whole prospectus of the Bay Shore
Development Company seemed singularly vague. The proposal to buy my land
was definite enough, but the rest of it was, apparently, very much in
the air. There was too much secrecy about it. No one was to tell anyone
anything. I was glad I had insisted upon time for consideration. I
intended to consider thoroughly.

CHAPTER XIV

When I left the boat house I did not go directly home, but wandered
along the beach. I had puzzled my brain with Mr. Keene and his
errand until I determined not to puzzle it any longer that day. If my
suspicions were unfounded and existed merely because of my dislike of
the Bay Shore Company's representative, then they were not worth worry.
If they were well founded I had almost a week in which to discover the
fact. I would dismiss the whole matter from my thoughts. The question
as to whether or not I would sell the land at all to anybody, which was,
after all, the real question, I resolved to put off answering until I
had had my talk with Mother.

I walked on by the water's edge until I reached the Lane; turning into
that much coveted strip of territory I continued until I came opposite
the Colton mansion, where, turning again, I strolled homeward by the
path through the grove. Unconsciously my wandering thoughts strayed to
Mabel Colton. It was here that I had met her on two occasions. I had an
odd feeling that I should meet her here again, that she was here now.
I had no reason for thinking such a thing, certainly the wish was not
father to the thought, but at every bend in the path, as the undergrowth
hid the way, I expected, as I turned the corner, to see her coming
toward me.

But the path was, save for myself, untenanted. I was almost at its end,
where the pines and bushes were scattering and the field of daisies, now
in full bloom, began, when I heard a slight sound at my left. I looked
in the direction of the sound and saw her. She was standing beneath a
gnarled, moss-draped old pine by the bluff edge, look