"And yet you told me, Marcia, this was a quiet, adventureless place!" burst out Sylvia, the instant the door had closed.
"Isn't it?"
"It doesn't seem so to me. When shipwrecked mariners fall into your arms entirely without warning, I call it thrilling. Who do you suppose he is?"
"He told us his name."
"Of course—Heath. Stanley Heath. It's quite a romantic name, too. But I didn't mean that. I mean where did he come from and why? Didn't he tell you?"
"Not a word."
Obviously the girl was disappointed.
"I thought perhaps he might have while I was upstairs. I was gone long enough for him to pour out to you his entire history. At least it seemed so to me. I ransacked every closet and drawer in sight trying to find something for him to put on. It wasn't until I struck that old sea-chest in the hall that I discovered pajamas and underwear. I hope you don't mind my taking them."
A shiver passed over Marcia.
"No. They were Jason's. I ought to have told you they were there. I kept them because I thought they might sometime be useful."