impossible had
happened to her already, who knew but that the next incredible thing
would be that she should become mistress of Foljambe Park? Why not?
Since the haven was open to her, and Chip had left the poor little craft
of her life to toss in a sea too strong for it, why not creep into any
refuge that would receive her? She would certainly be driven sooner or
later into some such port--then why not into this?

She hurried homeward between the thundering breakers on the one hand and
the tossing palms on the other, her mind in a state of storm. In the
garden, as she passed toward the hotel, she saw Miss Chesley with the
children, but she couldn't stop and speak to them. She hurried. She
wanted the protection of her room, of quiet, of the accessories to
mental peace. Perhaps when she got these she should be able to
think--and decide; so she hurried on.

To avoid the main hall, where people might speak to her, she took the
short cut through the sun-pavilion, which would bring her nearer to the
stairs. But on throwing open the door she stood still on the threshold
with a little soundless gasp. "Oh!"

He came toward her sedately, the glimmer of a smile on the stamped
gravity of his face. "I took the liberty of waiting for you. I couldn't
bring myself to go back to Cap d'Ail without knowing how you were."

As he held her hand he seemed to bend over her with what she had already
described to herself as a brooding concern. She knew she was blushing
foolishly and that her knees were trembling under her; and yet,
curiously enough, the little craft of her life seemed suddenly to find
itself in quiet waters, ranged round by protecting hills. She was
confused and sorry and glad and afraid all in one instant. Nothing but
the habit of the hostess, which was so strong in her, enabled her to
capture a conventional tone and say the obvious thing:

"I'm so glad you waited. Won't you sit down, and let me ring for tea?"

III

REPROACH

Chip had never really noticed her until on that Sunday morning in June
it suddenly struck him that she was trying to get a word with him alone.
He had seen her, of course. She had been at Mountain Brook--which was
the name of Emery Bland's place in New Hampshire--every time he had gone
there; but, her quality being unobtrusive, he had paid her no attention.
Furthermore, both Bland and Mrs. Bland, being emphatic in personality
and talkative, he had been the more easily led to ignore this r