Flint and Winifred Anstice turned and looked at each other. What it meant, I don't know; but I saw her color up to her hair. The others had turned away for a moment to watch a schooner which had just come in sight round the Point. Flint went up close to Winifred and said: "And you—what will you have?"
"Your pardon."
"That you cannot have, for you don't need it. Will you take my thanks instead?"
"You are too generous."
"With thanks?—that is easy. They are 'the exchequer of the poor.'"
"I trust, Mr. Flint," said Professor Anstice, who, having withdrawn his attention from the schooner, could now bring it to bear nearer home,—"I trust we may not altogether lose sight of you after these pleasant days together, I shall be glad—"
"Papa!"
"Yes, my dear, I know you should be included. My daughter and I will be glad to see you at our house on Stuyvesant Square." With this he pulled out a card, but, discovering in time that it contained the address of his typewriter, he returned it to his pocket and substituted his own.
"I thank you," said Flint, with more of human [Pg 187] heartiness in his voice than I had ever heard before,—"I thank you, and I shall not fail to avail myself of the privilege. Here comes the carryall! Good-bye!"
A moment later he was gone. Dr. Cricket goes by the night boat this evening, and Philip Brady leaves on Monday. How dull we shall be!