"Appledore is not the same now," and Mrs. Trotter sighed, "do you recall Mrs. Thaxter's lines—
"The barren island dreams in flowers, while blow
The south winds, drawing haze on sea and land,
Yet the great heart of ocean, throbbing slow
Makes the pale flowers vibrate where they stand."
"Oh dear!" whispered Martine to Clare, "I feel as if I were at a funeral. Let's find what Peggy has been doing."
"But I'd like to have known Mrs. Thaxter, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, though a person who had lived most of her life on an island of four hundred acres must have been different from the rest of the world."
"She did write poetry," replied Clare.
"Yes, that made her different from most of us. But here come Peggy and the rest. I wonder where they've been."
Peggy and her party explained that they had been watching the surf on the farther side of the island.
"Yes," exclaimed Peggy, "it was fine, I can tell you, and the view, why, we could see miles and miles; if we had had a glass, I believe we could have heard people talking at York." Whereat, in the fashion of young people, all laughed as heartily as if Peggy had said something really funny. While they stood there, Herbert was looking nervously at his watch.
"Excuse me, but I really think—"