Presently three people came down the steep path from the fish-houses. One of them, a girl, ran lightly forward and touched Benjamin Selby's arm. He lowered his glass with a start and looked around. A flash of undisguised delight transfigured his face.
"Why, Mary Stella! I didn't expect you'd be down this hot day. You haven't been much at the shore lately," he added reproachfully.
"I really haven't had time, Benjamin," she answered carelessly, as she took the glass from his hand and tried to focus it on the fishing fleet. Benjamin steadied it for her; the flush of pleasure was still glowing on his bronzed cheek, "Are the mackerel biting now?"
"Not just now. Who is that stranger with your father, Mary Stella?"
"That is a cousin of ours—a Mr. Braithwaite. Are you very busy, Benjamin?"
"Not busy at all—idle as you see me. Why?"
"Will you take me out for a little row in the dory? I haven't been out for so long."
"Of course. Come—here's the dory—your namesake, you know. I had her fresh painted last week. She's as clean as an eggshell."
The girl stepped daintily off the rocks into the little cream-coloured skiff, and Benjamin untied the rope and pushed off.
"Where would you like to go, Mary Stella?"