d breezily.

"We've all been going since breakfast," Stevens suggested; "why not sit
still for a while?"

"Ricky!" said his sister severely, "no one asked your opinion. What in
the world is the use of sitting still? We can do that at home."

"What do you suggest?" Cosden asked her incautiously.

"Have you been to Harrington Sound?"

"No," he admitted; recognizing at once that he had given an unwise
opening.

"Then why don't you let me show you the way?" Edith asked, as if the
thought had only just occurred to her.

A chorus of approval went up from Huntington, Mrs. Thatcher and Billy.

"Suppose we all go," Cosden said, seeking safety in numbers.

"We have taken the drive several times," Mrs. Thatcher abetted Edith in
her conspiracy, "and I am sure Mr. Huntington is too gallant to leave
us. You can drive over and back comfortably by dinner-time."

"Won't you stop on the way home and get me some coral sand?" Merry
asked. "Edith will show you the beach."

A drive with Miss Stevens was the last thing Cosden had intended, but as
there seemed no possible escape he rose to the occasion and at once
ordered the victoria. Nor was the enthusiasm of Billy's send-off
balm-of-Gilead to his soul as the carriage moved away from the hotel
steps. Edith, in a suit of white Bermuda doe-skin, with a small purple
hat perched rakishly on her head, and carrying a purple parasol with
handle of abalone pearl, was looking her best, and to the amused
onlookers her snapping eyes and beaming countenance seemed to promise
compensation.

"I wish we might have a word together about Hamlen," Huntington remarked
to Marian as they turned back to the piazza.

"That is the very subject which is uppermost in my mind," she replied
eagerly. "You saw him this morning?"

"Yes; and he has absorbed my thoughts ever since. Suppose we sit down
and talk him over."

The others in the party left them to themselves. They had heard
Huntington's preliminary remark, and understood that they had no part in
the conversation.

"He is a pathetic figure," Huntington continued, "and he has won a
sympathy from me which I never remember to have given to any one before.
Think of twenty years of solitude! By Jove! he is the Modern Edmond
Dantes!"

"I've known him since he was a boy," Marian said as Huntington paused
for a moment. "If you are to understand the situation, perhaps I ought
to tell you more. For a time, we were engaged, but these relations were
bro