"You won't try to make him dislike me, will you? I know you never did like me. I saw it the first time we met, when I was driving that wretched colt, and we ran over your fishing-rod, and then, the next day on the pond, and ever since, things have steadily kept going wrong between us. So, of course, it would be quite natural for you to talk about it all to him; and then he would never like me any more, and I do want him to."
For an instant Flint felt a mad desire to keep up the illusion; but he himself was too much shaken to have played his part if he would.
"Miss Anstice," he said, "I am the editor of the 'Trans-Continental.'"
Without another word, he swung himself down by the pine-bough to the gravelly beach, and, pushing off the dory, slipped out over the same moonlit course which Leonard had travelled. Winifred watched him till his boat had rounded the Point; then she turned back to the camp-fire in a daze. Do what she would, she could not shake off the spell of those last words: "I am the editor of the 'Trans-Continental.'"
CHAPTER XI
THE POINT OF VIEW
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| Extract from the Journal of Miss Susan Standish. Nepaug, August First. |
| [From which it will appear that contemporary journals are not always trustworthy.] |