"That boy? Do you mean Jack?"
"Yes. I wonder you trust her to his care—after what happened at the wreck."
"Why should I not? Jack understands how to manage a boat. Marion is safe with her brother."
"But he is not her brother," cried St. John.
"Not in blood, perhaps, but in affection. They have been brought up together as children of one family."
"My dear Aunt Alice, do you think you have done wisely in encouraging this intimacy?" he said earnestly.
"What can you mean?" she demanded. "Jack is fourteen years old and Marion is eighteen."
"Of course. But you know nothing of the boy's parentage. He is an unknown waif, cast upon the shore in his infancy, very possibly of a low family."
"No, you are wrong there. Remember, I saw his mother. Everything indicated her to be a lady. The child's clothing was of fine texture. But even if it were otherwise, he has endeared himself to me by his noble qualities. I regard him as a son."
St. John shrugged his shoulders. "You look upon him with the eyes of affection. To me he seems——"