er room with a pleasant
word, but without kissing her good-night. At the time she had not
thought twice of the omission, but now to her awakened suspicion it
seemed ominous. Edna had up to this time treated her with a frank
demonstrativeness very sweet to Sylvia. Twenty-four hours ago she would
have been certain that in departing even for this little trip of half a
day her friend would have given her some slight caress. She watched now
intently for the opportunity, but Edna brought the golf cape and put it
on John's arm. "Be sure you take Benny with you," she said. "You aren't
a sufficiently ancient mariner yet for these parts. Now I must fly to
the carpenters, good people. _Au revoir._"

"Oh, Edna!" cried Sylvia earnestly, taking an involuntary step after
the girl. "Couldn't I possibly stay and help the carpenters and have
you go? I'd a thousand times rather. I hate to leave the island."

"Nonsense," laughed Edna. "Where is your loyalty to the Mill Farm?
Good-by," and she disappeared.

It was not the reply she would have made yesterday. Sylvia was certain
of it, and it was a grave maiden who stepped sedately by Dunham's side
as they struck across the field toward the dock. It never occurred to
her that if something had happened to offend Edna the matter could
concern anybody or anything but Dunham.

Oh, how lovely the day was! How happy her morning had been! How
wondrous would be this world of fragrant land and sparkling water if
only Edna would have kissed her good-by! And to be going sailing amid
this paradise with John Dunham! It was cruel that the very crown of all
the blessed situation must be put from her as a joy, and accepted only
as a utilitarian measure. For had she not already in some way stepped
outside her rightful place?

Benny Merritt's stolid countenance grew still graver as the two drew
near the floating dock.

"Where's Miss Edna?" he asked.

"Not coming," replied Dunham. "Yes, I know it's an outrage, Benny, but
she has the carpenters. It seems to be an island ailment as bad as the
measles for confining people to the house; but cheer up, you have Miss
Sylvia and me."

"Got a real good chance to-day," grumbled Benny; "Miss Edna'd like it."

"Oh, don't say any more about it," exclaimed Sylvia. "I'm wretched
because she couldn't come."

Dunham looked at the speaker in surprise at the acute tone. He could
have sworn that a sudden mist veiled her eyes.

"Oh, go on," he said. "Trample on my fee