“How has everything gone to-day, Billy?” Julia asked, as they sat looking out to sea.
“Rather well,” Billy answered. “We were all in a working mood and all in good spirits. We’ve done more to-day than we’ve done in any three days before. At noon, while we were eating our lunch, I showed them your plans.”
“You didn’t say—.”
“I didn’t peep. I promised, you know. I let them assume that they were mine. They went wild over them, threw all kinds of fits. You see, Pete has a really fine artistic sense that’s going to waste in all these minor problems of construction and drainage. I flatter myself that I, too, have some taste. Addington and Honey are both good workmen—that is, they work steadily under instruction. Merrill’s only an inspired plumber, of course. Pete and I have been feeling for a long time that we wanted to do something more creative, more esthetic. This is just the thing we needed. I’m glad you thought it out; for I was beginning to grow stale. I sometimes wonder what will happen when the New Camp is entirely built and there’s nothing else to do.”
Billy’s voice had, in spite of his temperamental optimism, a dull note of unpleasant anticipation.
“There’ll be plenty to do after that.” Julia smiled reassuringly. “I’m working on a plan to lay out the entire island. That will take years and years and years. Even then you’ll need help.”
“That, my beloved,” Billy said, “until the children grow up, is just what we can’t get—help.”
Julia was silent.
“Julia,” he went on, after an interval, in which neither spoke, “won’t you marry me? I’m lonely.”
The poignant look—it was almost excruciating now—came into Julia’s eyes.