Kathryn had turned to him. There was in her eyes a frank gladness—a sincere welcome. She was glad to see him; how glad, she herself scarcely knew. She had few friends; for there were but few people for whom she really cared. She had known Blake for many, many years—known him and liked him, and liking, had respected. He was of the few men whom money, and bachelorhood, have no power to spoil. And they are few indeed. The one has power to spoil, you know, even as has the other; and both together—unusual indeed is the man who can resist.
"It's good to see you again, Tom," she declared. "It's been lonely here…. And I never thought that would happen."
"It's good to be here," he returned, looking steadily upon her. "It's good to be here, Kate. It's a perfect place, this—perfect."
Elinor had risen; plucking a bending blossom, inhaling of its delicate fragrance, she had wandered through the broad archway of the arbor, toward the Sound.
There was a moment of silence. There came from between Blake's lips a deep sigh.
Kathryn looked up, quickly.
"What's the matter, Tom?"
He shook his head again.
"I don't know. Sometimes things go all wrong—dead wrong—and no one can tell why, or how, or what to do."
"Why, Tom!" she cried. "What do you mean? Has anything—"