"Certainly; of course. I beg your pardon."
Rosalind smiled. Evidently he was one of the difficult kind.
"I am Miss Chalmers," extending her cool fingers to him.
He shook hands nervously.
"You got Mr. Witherbee's telegram aboard the train?"
"Oh, yes; I got it. Very kind of him, too."
"They thought it would be rather lonely for you over at your own island, while Mr. Davidson is away, with none but the servants there."
"It would, it would," he assented quickly.
"So I am to bring you down to Mr. Witherbee's, where he hopes you will become his guest for as long a period as you find it agreeable. If it is necessary for you to be over at your own island at night, it is only a few minutes' run in the launch."
"I'm—I'm not sure it will be necessary at all," he broke in earnestly.