"Won't you come in? There are plenty of trains and we'd like you to dine with us."
A great wave of loneliness and yearning swept over him. Her invitation seemed to create new and limitless distances that stretched between them. In fumbling with the latch of the gate he had dropped his letter. The wind caught and carried it out into the grass.
He went soberly after it and picked it up. There was a dogged resignation in his step as he walked slowly across the grass. While he was securing the bit of paper, she sat down on a rustic bench and waited for him.
"The fates don't agree with you about the letter, Mr. Saxton. You were looking for a letter box and they tried to thwart you."
"I'm not superstitious," said John, smiling a little.
"One needn't be,—to act on the direct hints of Providence."
She sat at comfortable ease on the bench, holding her parasol across her lap. There was room for two, and John sat down.
"Suppose it were a check on an overdrawn account; would Providence intervene to prevent an overdraft?"
"That's a commercial hypothesis; I think we should be above such considerations." Then they were silent. John bent forward with his elbows on his knees, playing with his stick and still holding the letter. The wind came up out of the sea and blew in their faces. The brass mountings of the yacht shone resplendent in the slanting rays of the lowering sun. It was very calm and restful in the orchard. Two robins came and inspected them, and then flew away to one of the gnarled old trees to gossip about them.