e."

She did; and it affected his penmanship so that the writing grew wabbly.
Still she could read:

(_Telegram_)

TO SAILING MASTER, YACHT THENDARA, BAR HARBOR:

Put boat out of commission. I may be away all summer.

WAYNE.

"How far is it to the station?" asked Wayne, turning to look into her
eyes.

"Only five miles," she said. "I'll walk with you if you like. Shall I?"

IV

[Illustration]

"Wealth," observed the poet, waving his heavy white hand, "is a figure
of speech, Mr. Wayne. Only by the process of elimination can one arrive
at the exquisite simplicity of poverty--care-free poverty. Even a single
penny is a burden--the flaw in the marble, the fly in the amber of
perfection. Cast it away and enter Eden!" And joining thumb and
forefinger, he plucked a figurative copper from the atmosphere, tossed
it away, and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief.

"But--" began Wayne uneasily.

"Try it," smiled the poet, diffusing sweetness; "try it. Dismiss all
thoughts of money from your mind."

"I do," said Wayne, somewhat relieved. "I thought you meant for me to
chuck my securities overboard and eat herbs."

"Not in your case--no, not in your case. _I_ can do that; I have done
it. No, your sacred mission is simply to forget that you are wealthy.
That is a very precious thought, Mr. Wayne--remain a Croesus and forget
it! Not to eliminate your _wealth_, but eliminate all _thought_ of it.
Very, very precious."

"Well, I never think about things like that except at a directors'
meeting," blurted out the young fellow. "Perhaps it's because I've never
had to think about it."

The poet sighed so sweetly that the atmosphere seemed to drip with the
saccharine injection.

"I wish," ventured Wayne, "that you would let me mention the subject of
business"--the poet shook his head indulgently--"just to say that I'm
not going to foreclose." He laid a packet of legal papers in the poet's
hand.

"Hush," smiled Guilford, "this is not seemly in the house beautiful....
_What_ was it you said, Mr. Wayne?"

"I? I was going to say that I just wanted--wanted to stay here--be your
guest, if you'll let me," he said honestly. "I was cruising--I didn't
understand--Briggs--Briggs--" He stuck.

"Yes, Briggs," softly suggested the poet, spraying the night air with
more sweetness.

"Briggs has spoken to you about--about your daughter Vanessa. You see,
Briggs is my closest friend; his happiness is--er--import