"Oh, in just a few weeks. June, some time. It'll be pulling me, pulling me, from now on, Benny."
She smiled, and Sylvia could see her face. Black hair that shone with a fine silken lustre grew thickly about a white forehead. Brows that lay like smooth touches of satin swept in two fine lines above gay, kind brown eyes. Her smile merited the adjective "sweet" more than any Sylvia had ever seen; but the boatman's next words startled the listener.
"Miss Lacey comin', too, I s'pose?"
"Of course. What a question to ask a lone, lorn girl?"
"She didn't stop long last season."
"No; for I was in Switzerland. Why should she? But I can't spare her now, and she's written me that she'll come just as usual, so Anemone Cottage will be itself again."
"Well"—the boy hesitated for words to express his pleasure—"we can stand it if you can," he finished.
"All right, Benny," she laughed. "Get to Gull Point as quick as you can. I've just one idea now, and that's the telephone. Good-by." She waved her hand as he set the sail and took his oars to pull into the wind.
Sylvia saw him nod and smile back. Then that happened on which she had counted. The stranger came up into the path, and without seeing the watcher, walked swiftly away.
Sylvia had seen no home in the vicinity beside the farmhouse, and the familiar mention of Miss Lacey made it doubly certain that this low-voiced stranger, this girl whose broad a's and lack of r's sounded oddly upon Sylvia's Western ears, was going fast as her trim feet could carry her to Thinkright's home. A strange feeling beset Sylvia. The newcomer's perfect costume, the assurance and refinement of her manner, even the unconscious adoration in Benny's sea-blue eyes, all pointed to a superiority which made Sylvia vaguely resentful of her.