Phil looked about vaguely, and followed her. He noticed on the crest above them a cottage of boulders and shingles.
"Yours?" he asked.
"Home, sweet home," she answered.
Captain James passed them now with his load, and by the time they reached the cottage, Mrs. Fabian was on the steps to welcome them; but Philip was absorbed in the surprise which the summit of that hill gave the newcomer. Before him, but a few rods away, spread the Atlantic, foaming at the foot of the bluff. Distant islands came near in the crystal air, their outline defined by rocks, which in the distance seemed ribbons of sandy beach. The superb breadth of view, ending either in the horizon or in the irregular skyline of the mainland, took the breath of the unfamiliar.
Mrs. Fabian straightened with pleasure in the spellbound look of her guest as, his hat dropped upon the grass, he gazed in silence. It was her island and her view. She started to speak, but Kathleen touched her finger to her lips with a suggestive smile; so the lady sank instead into a hammock chair. Her maid Molly came out of the house, greeted the ladies and carried in their bags, saying that dinner would be served whenever they were ready.
Philip, from his stand below on the grass, turned and looked up at them, his eyes dark with the blue of the sea.
"I understand now," he said, "why you haven't talked about it."
"Come in and have something to eat," suggested his exultant hostess. "We have noon dinner. Kathleen simply refuses to shorten the day with a long evening meal."
Philip gave the girl a brilliant smile of appreciation.
"After dinner," went on Mrs. Fabian, "Kathleen will take you to walk to some of our pretty places."