If the weather were too warm for his liking, he often pulled up at some of the farms where he was known, and where he was sure of a welcome from admiring children. There he would await Miss Gastonguay, and in the cool of the evening joyfully rejoin her, and return to his stable and his epicurean diet.
One day, when far from home, Miss Gastonguay, who happened to be alone, met Justin Mercer, who was also on horseback, his face, however, being set toward Rossignol, while hers was away from it.
She reined in her beautiful black animal with an imperative "Where have you been?"
"To Cloverdale on business. A farmer who is ill sent for me."
"What is your wife doing?"
"She is yachting to-day."
"What with her shore dinners, and her clambakes, and drives, and sailing parties, and golf, and tennis, and visits to the poor, I never see her now," grumbled Miss Gastonguay." I want her to myself for one afternoon. Will you all come up next Thursday and have a picnic in my woods?"
Justin assured her that they would be glad to do so.
"And have your mother come, and that extraordinary man, her husband."
Justin's big white teeth gleamed approvingly, then a silence fell between them. They were on the summit of a bluff one hundred feet above a flat, white beach. As from the height of some battlement they looked out on a wide blue stretch of water. The view was one of exquisite peace and beauty, yet Miss Gastonguay's eyes came drearily back to her companion's quietly happy face.