“But where—” she began; and then, “why, of course! you met him here. I forgot that he has been your neighbor for three summers.”
The assistant had forgotten it, too, but he was thankful for the reminder.
“Yes. Yes, certainly,” he said. She regarded him with a puzzled look.
“It's odd he didn't mention you,” she observed. “He has told me a great deal about the bungalow, and the sea views, and the loneliness and the quaintness of it all. That was what made me wish to spend a month down here and experience it myself. And he has often spoken,” with an irrepressible smile, “of your—of the lightkeeper, Mr. Atkins. That is his name, isn't it?”
“Yes.”
“I want to meet him. Horace said he was—well, rather odd, but, when you knew him, a fine fellow and full of dry humor. I'm sure I should like him.”
Brown smiled, also—and broadly. He mentally pictured Seth's reception of the news that he was “liked” by the young lady across the cove. And then it occurred to him, with startling suddenness, that he had been conversing very familiarly with that young lady, notwithstanding the solemn interchange of vows between the lightkeeper and himself.
“I must be going,” he said hastily; “good morning, Miss Graham.”
He waded to the shore and strode rapidly back toward the boathouse. His companion called after him.
“I shall expect you to-morrow afternoon,” she said. “You've promised to teach me that side stroke, remember.”