‘Do you mean that he became interested in the twins?’
‘Oh, yes!—very deeply interested. You have heard me speak of him: it was Mr. Fielding.’
‘Why, Rhoda, he was the last summer’s minister, the one who preached at the sea-shore.’
‘Certainly; but he was only supplying a pulpit there; now he has his own parish. He is taking up a course of child-study, and asked me if he was at liberty to use the twins for psychological observations. I assented most gratefully, thinking, you know, that he couldn’t study them unless he kept them with him a good deal; but he counted without his host, as you can imagine. He lives at the hotel until his cottage is finished, and the first thing I knew he had hired a stout nursemaid as his contribution to the service of humanity. I think he was really sorry for me, for I was so confined I could scarcely ever ride, or drive, or play tennis; and besides, he simply had to have somebody to hold the children while he observed them. We succeeded better after the nurse came, and we all had delightful walks and conversations together, just a nice little family party! The hotel people called Atlantic the Cyclone, and Pacific the Warrior. Sometimes strangers took us for the children’s parents, and that was embarrassing; not that I mind being mistaken for a parent, but I decline being credited, or discredited, with the maternity of those imps!’
‘They are altogether new in my experience,’ confessed Mary.
‘That is just what the young minister said.’
‘Will he keep up his psychological investigation during the autumn?’ Mary inquired.
‘He really has no material there.’
‘What will he do, then?—carry it on by correspondence?’
‘No, that is always unsatisfactory. I fancy he will come here occasionally: it is the most natural place, and he is especially eager to meet you.’