The Tides of Barnegat

by Francis Hopkinson Smith

  CHAPTER XVII

  BREAKERS AHEAD

  The summer-home of Max Feilding, Esq., of Walnut Hill, and of thebeautiful and accomplished widow of the dead Frenchman was located on alevelled sand-dune in full view of the sea. Indeed, from beneath itslow-hooded porticos and piazzas nothing else could be seen except,perhaps, the wide sky--gray, mottled, or intensely blue, as the weatherpermitted--the stretch of white sand shaded from dry to wet and edgedwith tufts of yellow grass; the circling gulls and the tall finger ofBarnegat Light pointing skyward. Nothing, really, but some scatteringbuildings in silhouette against the glare of the blinding light--onethe old House of Refuge, a mile away to the north, and nearer by, thenew Life Saving Station (now complete) in charge of Captain Nat Holtand his crew of trusty surfmen.

  This view Lucy always enjoyed. She would sit for hours under herawnings and watch the lazy boats crawling in and out of the inlet, orthe motionless steamers--motionless at that distance--slowly unwindingtheir threads of smoke. The Station particularly interested her.Somehow she felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that Archie was atwork and that he had at last found his level among his own people--notthat she wished him any harm; she only wanted him out of her way.

  The hostelry itself was one of those low-roofed, shingle-sided andshingle-covered buildings common in the earlier days along the Jerseycoast, and now supplanted by more modern and more costly structures. Ithad grown from a farm-house and out-buildings to its present state withthe help of an architect and a jig-saw; the former utilizing whatremained of the house and its barns, and the latter transforming plainpine into open work patterns with which to decorate its gable ends andfacade. When the flags were raised, the hanging baskets suspended ineach loop of the porches, and the merciless, omnipresent andever-insistent sand was swept from its wide piazzas and sun-warpedsteps it gave out an air of gayety so plausible and enticing that manyotherwise sane and intelligent people at once closed their comfortablehomes and entered their names in its register.

  The amusements of these habitues--if they could be called habitues,this being their first summer--were as varied as their tastes. Therewas a band which played mornings and afternoons in an unpainted pinepagoda planted on a plot of slowly dying grass and decorated with morehanging baskets and Chinese lanterns; there was bathing at eleven andfour; and there was croquet on the square of cement fenced about bypoles and clothes-lines at all hours. Besides all this there weredriving parties to the villages nearby; dancing parties at night withthe band in the large room playing away for dear life, with all theguests except the very young and very old tucked away in twos in thedark corners of the piazzas out of reach of the lights and theinquisitive--in short, all the diversions known to such retreats, sonecessary for warding off ennui and thus inducing the inmates to staythe full length of their commitments.

  In its selection Max was guided by two considerations: it was nearYardley--this would materially aid in Lucy's being able to joinhim--and it was not fashionable and, therefore, not likely to beoverrun with either his own or Lucy's friends. The amusements did notinterest him; nor did they interest Lucy. Both had seen too much andenjoyed too much on the other side of the water, at Nice, at MonteCarlo, and Biarritz, to give the amusements a thought. What they wantedwas to be let alone; this would furnish all the excitement either ofthem needed. This exclusiveness was greatly helped by the red andyellow drag, with all its contiguous and connecting impedimenta, aturnout which never ceased to occupy everybody's attention whenever thesmall tiger stood by the heads of the satin-coated grays awaiting thegood pleasure of his master and his lady. Its possession not onlymarked a social eminence too lofty for any ordinary habitue to climb tounless helped up by the proffered hand of the owner, but it preventedanyone of these would-be climbers from inviting either its owner or hiscompanion to join in other outings no matter how enjoyable. Suchamusements as they could offer were too simple and old-fashioned fortwo distinguished persons who held the world in their slings and whowere whirling it around their heads with all their might. The resultwas that their time was their own.

  They filled it at their pleasure.

  When the tide was out and the sand hard, they drove on the beach,stopping at the new station, chatting with Captain Holt or Archie; orthey strolled north, always avoiding the House of Refuge--that localityhad too many unpleasant associations for Lucy, or they sat on thedunes, moving back out of the wet as the tide reached them, tossingpebbles in the hollows, or gathering tiny shells, which Lucy laid outin rows of letters as she had done when a child. In the afternoon theydrove by way of Yardley to see how Ellen was getting on, or idled aboutWarehold, making little purchases at the shops and chatting with thevillage people, all of whom would come out to greet them. After dinnerthey would generally betake themselves to Max's portico, opening out ofhis rooms, or to Lucy's--they were at opposite ends of the longcorridor--where the two had their coffee while Max smoked.

  The opinions freely expressed regarding their social and moral status,and individual and combined relations, differed greatly in the severallocalities in which they were wont to appear. In Warehold village theywere looked upon as two most charming and delightful people, rich,handsome, and of proper age and lineage, who were exactly adapted toeach other and who would prove it before the year was out, with PastorDellenbaugh officiating, assisted by some dignitary from Philadelphia.

  At the hostelry many of the habitues had come to a far differentconclusion. Marriage was not in either of their heads, they maintained;their intimacy was a purely platonic one, born of a friendship datingback to childhood--they were cousins really--Max being the dearest andmost unselfish creature in the world, he having given up all hispleasures elsewhere to devote himself to a most sweet and gracious ladywhose grief was still severe and who would really be quite alone in theworld were it not for her little daughter, now temporarily absent.

  This summary of facts, none of which could be questioned, wassupplemented and enriched by another conclusive instalment from Mrs.Walton Coates, of Chestnut Plains, who had met Lucy at Aix the yearbefore, and who therefore possessed certain rights not vouchsafed tothe other habitues of Beach Haven--an acquaintance which Lucy, forvarious reasons, took pains to encourage--Mrs. C.'s social positionbeing beyond question, and her house and other appointments more thanvaluable whenever Lucy should visit Philadelphia: besides, Mrs.Coates's own and Lucy's apartments joined, and the connecting door ofthe two sitting-rooms was often left open, a fact which established astill closer intimacy. This instalment, given in a positive and ratherlofty way, made plain the fact that in her enforced exile thedistinguished lady not only deserved the thanks of every habitue of thehotel, but of the whole country around, for selecting the newestablishment in which to pass the summer, instead of one of the morefashionable resorts elsewhere.

  This outburst of the society leader, uttered in the hearing of acrowded piazza, had occurred after a conversation she had had with Lucyconcerning little Ellen.

  "Tell me about your little daughter," Mrs. Coates had said. "You didnot leave her abroad, did you?"

  "Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Coates! I am really here on my darling'saccount," Lucy answered with a sigh. "My old home is only a shortdistance from here. But the air does not agree with me there, and so Icame here to get a breath of the real sea. Ellen is with her aunt, mydear sister Jane. I wanted to bring her, but really I hadn't the heartto take her from them; they are so devoted to her. Max loves herdearly. He drives me over there almost every day. I really do not knowhow I could have borne all the sorrows I have had this year withoutdear Max. He is like a brother to me, and SO thoughtful. You know wehave known each other since we were children. They tell such dreadfulstories, too, about him, but I have never seen that side of him, he's aperfect saint to me."

  From that time on Mrs. Coates was her loyal mouthpiece and devotedfriend. Being separated from one's child was one of the things shecould not brook; Lucy was an angel to stand it as she did. As forMax--no other woman had ever so influenced him fo
r good, nor did shebelieve any other woman could.

  At the end of the second week a small fly no larger than a pin's headbegan to develop in the sunshine of their amber. It became visible tothe naked eye when Max suddenly resolved to leave his drag, his tiger,his high-stepping grays, and his fair companion, and slip over toPhiladelphia--for a day or two, he explained. His lawyer needed him, hesaid, and then again he wanted to see his sister Sue, who had run downto Walnut Hill for the day. (Sue, it might as well be stated, had notyet put in an appearance at Beach Haven, nor had she given any noticeof her near arrival; a fact which had not disturbed Lucy in the leastuntil she attempted to explain to Jane.)

  "I've got to pull up, little woman, and get out for a few days," Maxhad begun. "Morton's all snarled up, he writes me, over a mortgage, andI must straighten it out. I'll leave Bones [the tiger] and everythingjust as it is. Don't mind, do you?"

  "Mind! Of course I do!" retorted Lucy. "When did you get thismarvellous idea into that wonderful brain of yours, Max? I intended togo to Warehold myself to-morrow." She spoke with her usual good-humor,but with a slight trace of surprise and disappointment in her tone.

  "When I opened my mail this morning; but my going won't make anydifference about Warehold. Bones and the groom will take care of you."

  Lucy leaned back in her chair and looked over the rail of the porch.She had noticed lately a certain restraint in Max's manner which wasnew to her. Whether he was beginning to get bored, or whether it wasonly one of his moods, she could not decide--even with her acuteknowledge of similar symptoms. That some change, however, had come overhim she had not the slightest doubt. She never had any trouble inlassoing her admirers. That came with a glance of her eye or a lift ofher pretty shoulders: nor for that matter in keeping possession of themas long as her mood lasted.

  "Whom do you want to see in Philadelphia, Max?" she asked, smilingroguishly at him. She held him always by presenting her happiest andmost joyous side, whether she felt it or not.

  "Sue and Morton--and you, you dear girl, if you'll come along."

  "No; I'm not coming along. I'm too comfortable where I am. Is thiswoman somebody you haven't told me of, Max?" she persisted, looking athim from under half-closed lids.

  "Your somebodies are always thin air, little girl; you know everythingI have ever done in my whole life," Max answered gravely. She had forthe last two weeks.

  Lucy threw up her hands and laughed so loud and cheerily that anhabitue taking his morning constitutional on the boardwalk below turnedhis head in their direction. The two were at breakfast under theawnings of Lucy's portico, Bones standing out of range.

  "You don't believe it?"

  "Not one word of it, you fraud; nor do you. You've forgotten one-halfof all you've done and the other half you wouldn't dare tell any woman.Come, give me her name. Anybody Sue knows?"

  "Nobody that anybody knows, Honest John." Then he added as anafter-thought, "Are you sorry?" As he spoke he rose from his seat andstood behind her chair looking down over her figure. She had her backto him. He thought he had never seen her look so lovely. She waswearing a light-blue morning-gown, her arms bare to the elbows, and awide Leghorn hat--the morning costume of all others he liked her bestin.

  "No--don't think I am," she answered lightly. "Fact is I was gettingpretty tired of you. How long will you be gone?"

  "Oh, I think till the end of the week--not longer." He reached over thechair and was about to play with the tiny curls that lay under the coilof her hair, when he checked himself and straightened up. One of thosesudden restraints which had so puzzled Lucy had seized him. She couldnot see his face, but she knew from the tones of his voice that theenthusiasm of the moment had cooled.

  Lucy shifted her chair, lifted her head, and looked up into his eyes.She was always entrancing from this point of view: the upturnedeyelashes, round of the cheeks, and the line of the throat and swellingshoulders were like no other woman's he knew.

  "I don't want you to go, Max," she said in the same coaxing tone ofvoice that Ellen might have used in begging for sugar-plums. "Just letthe mortgage and old Morton and everybody else go. Stay here with me."

  Max straightened up and threw out his chest and a determined look cameinto his eyes. If he had had any doubts as to his departure Lucy'spleading voice had now removed them.

  "No, can't do it," he answered in mock positiveness. "Can't 'pon mysoul. Business is business. Got to see Morton right away; ought to haveseen him before." Then he added in a more serious tone, "Don't getworried if I stay a day or two longer."

  "Well, then, go, you great bear, you," and she rose to her feet andshook out her skirts. "I wouldn't let you stay, no matter what yousaid." She was not angry--she was only feeling about trying to put herfinger on the particular button that controlled Max's movements."Worried? Not a bit of it. Stay as long as you please."

  There WAS a button, could she have found it. It was marked "Caution,"and when pressed communicated to the heir of Walnut Hill theintelligence that he was getting too fond of the pretty widow and thathis only safety lay in temporary flight. It was a favorite trick ofhis. In the charting of his course he had often found two other rocksbeside Scylla and Charybdis in his way; one was boredom and the otherwas love. When a woman began to bore him, or he found himself likingher beyond the limit of his philosophy, he invariably found relief inchange of scene. Sometimes it was a sick aunt or a persistent lawyer oran engagement nearly forgotten and which must be kept at all hazards.He never, however, left his inamorata in either tears or anger.

  "Now, don't be cross, dear," he cried, patting her shoulder with hisfingers. "You know I don't want to leave you. I shall be perfectlywretched while I'm gone, but there's no help for it. Morton's such afussy old fellow--always wanting to do a lot of things that can,perhaps, wait just as well as not. Hauled me down from Walnut Hill halfa dozen times once, and after all the fellow wouldn't sell. But thistime it's important and I must go. Bones," and he lifted his finger tothe boy, "tell John I want the light wagon. I'll take the 11.12 toPhiladelphia."

  The tiger advanced ten steps and stood at attention, his finger at hiseyebrow. Lucy turned her face toward the boy. "No, Bones, you'll donothing of the kind. You tell John to harness the grays to the drag.I'll go to the station with Mr. Feilding."

  Max shrugged his shoulders. He liked Lucy for a good many things--onewas her independence, another was her determination to have her ownway. Then, again, she was never so pretty as when she was a trifleangry; her color came and went so deliciously and her eyes snapped socharmingly. Lucy saw the shrug and caught the satisfied look in hisface. She didn't want to offend him and yet she didn't intend that heshould go without a parting word from her--tender or otherwise, ascircumstances might require. She knew she had not found the button, andin her doubt determined for the present to abandon the search.

  "No, Bones, I've changed my mind," she called to the boy, who was nowhalf way down the piazza. "I don't think I will go. I'll stop here,Max, and do just what you want me to do," she added in a softenedvoice. "Come along," and she slipped her hand in his and the two walkedtoward the door of his apartments.

  When the light wagon and satin-skinned sorrel, with John on the seatand Bones in full view, stopped at the sanded porch, Mrs. Coates andLucy formed part of the admiring group gathered about the turn-out. Allof Mr. Feilding's equipages brought a crowd of onlookers, no matter howoften they appeared--he had five with him at Beach Haven, including thefour-in-hand which he seldom used--but the grays and the light wagon,by common consent, were considered the most "stylish" of them all, notexcepting the drag.

  After Max had gathered the reins in his hands, had balanced the whip,had settled himself comfortably and with a wave of his hand to Lucy haddriven off, Mrs. Coates slipped her arm through my lady's and the twoslowly sauntered to their rooms.

  "Charming man, is he not?" Mrs. Coates ventured. "Such a pity he is notmarried! You know I often wonder whom such men will marry. Some prettyschool-girl, perhaps, or prim woman of for
ty."

  Lucy laughed.

  "No," she answered, "you are wrong. The bread-and-butter miss wouldnever suit Max, and he's past the eye-glass and side-curl age. The nextphase, if he ever reaches it, will be somebody who will make himdo--not as he pleases, but as SHE pleases. A man like Max never caresfor a woman any length of time who humors his whims."

  "Well, he certainly was most attentive to that pretty Miss Billeton.You remember her father was lost overboard four years ago from hisyacht. Mr. Coates told me he met her only a day or so ago; she had comedown to look after the new ball-room they are adding to the old house.You know her, don't you?"

  "No--never heard of her. How old is she?" rejoined Lucy in a carelesstone.

  "I should say twenty, maybe twenty-two--you can't always tell aboutthese girls; very pretty and very rich. I am quite sure I saw Mr.Feilding driving with her just before he moved his horses down here,and she looked prettier than ever. But then he has a new flame everymonth, I hear."

  "Where were they driving?" There was a slight tone of curiosity inLucy's voice. None of Max's love-affairs ever affected her, of course,except as they made for his happiness; all undue interest, therefore,was out of place, especially before Mrs. Coates.

  "I don't remember. Along the River Road, perhaps--he generally drivesthere when he has a pretty woman with him."

  Lucy bit her lip. Some other friend, then, had been promised the dragwith the red body and yellow wheels! This was why he couldn't come toYardley when she wrote for him. She had found the button. It rang upanother woman.

  The door between the connecting sitting-rooms was not opened that day,nor that night, for that matter. Lucy pleaded a headache and wished tobe alone. She really wanted to look the field over and see where herline of battle was weak. Not that she really cared--unless the girlshould upset her plans; not as Jane would have cared had Doctor Johnbeen guilty of such infidelity. The eclipse was what hurt her. She hadheld the centre of the stage with the lime-light full upon her all herlife, and she intended to retain it against Miss Billeton or MissAnybody else. She decided to let Max know at once, and in plain terms,giving him to understand that she didn't intend to be made a fool of,reminding him at the same time that there were plenty of others whocared for her, or who would care for her if she should but raise herlittle finger. She WOULD raise it, too, even if she packed her trunksand started for Paris--and took him with her.

  These thoughts rushed through her mind as she sat by the window andlooked out over the sea. The tide was making flood, and thefishing-boats anchored in the inlet were pointing seaward. She couldsee, too, the bathers below and the children digging in the sand. Nowand then a boat would head for the inlet, drop its sail, and swinground motionless with the others. Then a speck would break away fromthe anchored craft and with the movement of a water-spider land thefishermen ashore.

  None of these things interested her. She could not have told whetherthe sun shone or whether the sky was fair or dull. Neither was shelonely, nor did she miss Max. She was simplyangry--disgusted--disappointed at the situation; at herself, at thewoman who had come between them, at the threatened failure of herplans. One moment she was building up a house of cards in which sheheld all the trumps, and the next instant she had tumbled it to theground. One thing she was determined upon--not to take second place.She would have all of him or none of him.

  At the end of the third day Max returned. He had not seen Morton, norany of his clerks, nor anybody connected with his office. Neither hadhe sent him any message or written him any letter. Morton might havebeen dead and buried a century so far as Max or his affairs wereconcerned. Nor had he laid his eyes on the beautiful Miss Billeton; norvisited her house; nor written her any letters; nor inquired for her.What he did do was to run out to Walnut Hill, have a word with hismanager, and slip back to town again and bury himself in his club. Mostof the time he read the magazines, some pages two or three times over.Once he thought he would look up one or two of his women friends attheir homes--those who might still be in town--and then gave it up asnot being worth the trouble. At the end of the third day he started forBarnegat. The air was bad in the city, he said to himself, andeverybody he met was uninteresting. He would go back, hitch up thegrays, and he and Lucy have a spin down the beach. Sea air always didagree with him, and he was a fool to leave it.

  Lucy met him at the station in answer to his telegram sent over fromWarehold. She was dressed in her very best: a double-breasted jacketand straw turban, a gossamer veil wound about it. Her cheeks were liketwo red peonies and her eyes bright as diamonds. She was perched up inthe driver's seat of the drag, and handled the reins and whip with theskill of a turfman. This time Bones, the tiger, did not spring into hisperch as they whirled from the station in the direction of the beach.His company was not wanted.

  They talked of Max's trip, of the mortgage, and of Morton; of how hotit was in town and how cool it was on her portico; of Mrs. Coates andof pater-familias Coates, who held a mortgage on Beach Haven; of thedance the night before--Max leading in the conversation and sheanswering either in mono-syllables or not at all, until Max hazardedthe statement that he had been bored to death waiting for Morton, whonever put in an appearance, and that the only human being, male orfemale, he had seen in town outside the members of the club, was Sue.

  They had arrived off the Life-Saving Station now, and Archie had calledthe captain to the door, and both stood looking at them, the boy wavinghis hand and the captain following them with his eyes. Had either ofthem caught the captain's remark they, perhaps, would have drawn reinand asked for an explanation:

  "Gay lookin' hose-carriage, ain't it? Looks as if they was runnin' to afire!"

  But they didn't hear it; would not, probably have heard it, had thecaptain shouted it in their ears. Lucy was intent on opening up asubject which had lain dormant in her mind since the morning of Max'sdeparture, and the gentleman himself was trying to cipher out what new"kink," as he expressed it to himself, had "got it into her head."

  When they had passed the old House of Refuge Lucy drew rein and stoppedthe drag where the widening circle of the incoming tide could bathe thehorses' feet. She was still uncertain as to how she would lead up tothe subject-matter without betraying her own jealousy or, moreimportant still, without losing her temper. This she rarely displayed,no matter how goading the provocation. Nobody had any use for anill-tempered woman, not in her atmosphere; and no fly that she had everknown had been caught by vinegar when seeking honey. There might bevinegar-pots to be found in her larder, but they were kept behindclosed doors and sampled only when she was alone. As she sat lookingout to sea, Max's brain still at work on the problem of her unusualmood, a schooner shifted her mainsail in the light breeze and set hercourse for the inlet.

  "That's the regular weekly packet," Max ventured. "She's making forFarguson's ship-yard. She runs between Amboy and Barnegat--CaptainAmbrose Farguson sails her." At times like these any topic was goodenough to begin on.

  "How do you know?" Lucy asked, looking at the incoming schooner fromunder her half-closed lids. The voice came like the thin piping of aflute preceding the orchestral crash, merely sounded so as to leteverybody know it was present.

  "One of my carriages was shipped by her. I paid Captain Farguson thefreight just before I went away."

  "What's her name?"--slight tremolo--only a note or two.

  "The Polly Walters," droned Max, talking at random, mind neither on thesloop nor her captain.

  "Named after his wife?" The flute-like notes came more crisply.

  "Yes, so he told me." Max had now ceased to give any attention to hisanswers. He had about made up his mind that something serious was thematter and that he would ask her and find out.

  "Ought to be called the Max Feilding, from the way she tacks about.She's changed her course three times since I've been watching her."

  Max shot a glance athwart his shoulder and caught a glimpse of thepretty lips thinned and straightened and the half-closed eyes andwrinkled forehead.
He was evidently the disturbing cause, but in whatway he could not for the life of him see. That she was angry to thetips of her fingers was beyond question; the first time he had seen herthus in all their acquaintance.

  "Yes-that would fit her exactly," he answered with a smile and with acertain soothing tone in his voice. "Every tack her captain makesbrings him the nearer to the woman he loves."

  "Rather poetic, Max, but slightly farcical. Every tack you make landsyou in a different port--with a woman waiting in every one of them."The first notes of the overture had now been struck.

  "No one was waiting in Philadelphia for me except Sue, and I only mether by accident," he said good-naturedly, and in a tone that showed hewould not quarrel, no matter what the provocation; "she came in to seeher doctor. Didn't stay an hour."

  "Did you take her driving?" This came in a thin, piccolo tone-barelyenough room for it to escape through her lips. All the big drums andheavy brass were now being moved up.

  "No; had nothing to take her out in. Why do you ask? What has happened,little--"

  "Take anybody else?" she interrupted.

  "No."

  He spoke quite frankly and simply. At any other time she would havebelieved him. She had always done so in matters of this kind, partlybecause she didn't much care and partly because she made it a pointnever to doubt the word of a man, either by suspicion or inference, whowas attentive to her. This time she did care, and she intended to tellhim so. All she dreaded was that the big horns and the tom-toms wouldget away from her leadership and the hoped-for, correctly playedsymphony end in an uproar.

  "Max," she said, turning her head and lifting her finger at him withthe movement of a conductor's baton, "how can you lie to me like that?You never went near your lawyer; you went to see Miss Billeton, andyou've spent every minute with her since you left me. Don't tell me youdidn't. I know everything you've done, and--" Bass drums, bass viols,bassoons--everything--was loose now.

  She had given up her child to be with him! Everything, in fact--all herpeople at Yardley; her dear old nurse. She had lied to Jane aboutchaperoning Sue--all to come down and keep him from being lonely. Whatshe wanted was a certain confidence in return. It made not theslightest difference to her how many women he loved, or how many womenloved him; she didn't love him, and she never would; but unless she wastreated differently from a child and like the woman that she was, shewas going straight back to Yardley, and then back to Paris, etc., etc.

  She knew, as she rushed on in a flood of abuse such as only a woman canlet loose when she is thoroughly jealous and entirely angry, that shewas destroying the work of months of plotting, and that he would belost to her forever, but she was powerless to check the torrent of herinvective. Only when her breath gave out did she stop.

  Max had sat still through it all, his eyes expressing firstastonishment and then a certain snap of admiration, as he saw the colorrising and falling in her cheeks. It was not the only time in hisexperience that he had had to face similar outbursts. It was the firsttime, however, that he had not felt like striking back. Other women'soutbreaks had bored him and generally had ended his interest inthem--this one was more charming than ever. He liked, too, her Americanpluck and savage independence. Jealous she certainly was, but there wasno whine about it; nor was there any flop at the close--floppy women hedetested--had always done so. Lucy struck straight out from hershoulder and feared nothing.

  As she raged on, the grays beating the water with their well-polishedhoofs, he continued to sit perfectly still, never moving a muscle ofhis face nor changing his patient, tolerant expression. The best plan,he knew, was to let all the steam out of the boiler and then graduallyrake the fires.

  "My dear little woman,"' he began, "to tell you the truth, I never laideyes on Morton; didn't want to, in fact. All that was an excuse to getaway. I thought you wanted a rest, and I went away to let you have it.Miss Billeton I haven't seen for three months, and couldn't if I would,for she is engaged to her cousin and is now in Paris buying her weddingclothes. I don't know who has been humbugging you, but they've done itvery badly. There is not one word of truth in what you've said frombeginning to end."

  There is a certain ring in a truthful statement that overcomes alldoubts. Lucy felt this before Max had finished. She felt, too, with asudden thrill, that she still held him. Then there came theinstantaneous desire to wipe out all traces of the outburst and keephis good-will.

  "And you swear it?" she asked, her belief already asserting itself inher tones, her voice falling to its old seductive pitch.

  "On my honor as a man," he answered simply.

  For a time she remained silent, her mind working behind her mask ofeyes and lips, the setting sun slanting across the beach and lightingup her face and hair, the grays splashing the suds with their impatientfeet. Max kept his gaze upon her. He saw that the outbreak was over andthat she was a little ashamed of her tirade. He saw, too, man of theworld as he was, that she was casting about in her mind for some way inwhich she could regain for herself her old position without too muchhumiliation.

  "Don't say another word, little woman," he said in his kindest tone."You didn't mean a word of it; you haven't been well lately, and Ioughtn't to have left you. Tighten up your reins; we'll drive on if youdon't mind."

  That night after the moon had set and the lights had been turned outalong the boardwalk and the upper and lower porticos and all BeachHaven had turned in for the night, and Lucy had gone to her apartments,and Mr. and Mrs. Coates and the rest of them, single and double, wereasleep, Max, who had been pacing up and down his dressing-room, stoppedsuddenly before his mirror, and lifting the shade from the lamp, made acritical examination of his face.

  "Forty, and I look it!" he said, pinching his chin with his thumb andforefinger, and turning his cheek so that the light would fall on thefew gray hairs about his temples. "That beggar Miggs said so yesterdayat the club. By gad, how pretty she was, and how her eyes snapped! Ididn't think it was in her!"