The suitor from the city gazed upon Rosalind Chalmers in adoration.
"You wonder!" he exclaimed.
She made a careless gesture and turned a pair of triumphant eyes in the direction of the boatman. He had ceased his pantomime and was regarding her with an expression even more rapt than that of Reginald.
"Wait till they hear of this at the Witherbees'!" exclaimed Reginald.
"They mustn't!" she said hastily. "Not for anything!"
"But my dear girl, it's so—"
"Remember Mr. Morton!"
Reginald frowned. The boatman's manner became suddenly alert. The name of Morton had a galvanizing effect. Then he remembered his role and relapsed into vacant passivity.
"Hang Morton!" blurted Reginald. "If the man's insane, as you say he is, I don't see why he isn't sent away. He's got everybody walking around on tiptoe and whispering. They've got the habit so bad that they even do it to me."
Sam's brow was furrowed, and the look he devoted to Rosalind contained a perplexed inquiry. She did not meet his eyes for long.