Sybil was staying near Newport with her only surviving relation, an uncle of her mother. He was an old man, upward of eighty years of age, and he lived in a strange old place six or seven miles from the town. But Ronald had been there more than once, and he was always enthusiastic in his description of what he had seen, and he seemed particularly anxious that Joe should know how very happy Sybil was in her country surroundings. Ronald had traveled during the spring, making short journeys in every direction, and constantly talking of going out to see the West, a feat which he never accomplished. He would go away for a week at a time and then suddenly appear again, and at last had gravitated to Newport. Thence he came to town occasionally and visited Joe, never remaining more than a day, and sometimes only a few hours. Joe was indifferent to his comings and goings, but always welcomed him in a friendly way. She saw that he was amusing himself, and was more glad than ever that the relations formerly existing between them had been so opportunely broken off. He had never referred to the past since the final interview when Joe had answered him by bursting into tears, and he talked about the present cheerfully enough.
One morning he arrived without warning, as usual, to make one of his short visits. Joe was sitting by the window dressed all in white, and the uniform absence of color in her dress rather exaggerated the pallor of her face than masked it. She was reading, apparently with some interest, in a book of which the dark-lined binding sufficiently declared the sober contents. As she read, her brows bent in the effort of understanding, while the warm breeze that blew through the blinds fanned her tired face and gently stirred the small stray ringlets of her soft brown hair. Ronald opened the door and entered.
“Oh, Ronald!” exclaimed Joe, starting a little nervously, “have you come up? You look like the sunshine. Come in, and shut the door.” He did as he was bidden, and came and sat beside her.
“Yes, I nave come up for the day. How are you, Joe dear? You look pale. It is this beastly heat–you ought to come down to Newport for a month. It is utterly idiotic, you know, staying in town in this weather.”
“I like it,” said Joe. “I like the heat so much that I think I should be cold in Newport. Tell me all about what you have been doing.”
“Oh, I hardly know,” said Ronald. “Lots of things.”
“Tell me what you do in one day–yesterday, for instance. I want to be amused this morning.”
“It is not so very amusing, you know, but it is very jolly,” answered Ronald. “To begin with, I get up at unholy hours and go and bathe in the surf at the second beach. There are no end of a a lot of people there even at that hour.”
“Yes, I dare say. And then?”
“Oh, then I go home and dress: and later, if I do not ride, I go to the club–casino, I beg its pardon!–and play tennis. They play very decently, some of those fellows.”