"Things cannot ever be thought out, after all, Vesty; but if the boys can play one to sleep—well, that is best."
She took my hand; the tenderness in her eyes covered their pity. I felt no sting. "I feel safe when you will come sometimes," she said; "you are so strong—so strong!" She touched my hand admonishingly; it was as though she lifted me.
"I misjudged your husband, Vesty; rather, I did not know him. He is a good lad, this Gurdon."
"Oh, he is!" A dream swept over her face, as dreams will; the mad birds whistling "love" down by the sea-wall, the gay waters flashing—Notely Garrison.
"And so the father plays him to sleep? Many a duke would give half his possessions for a boy like that!"
She buried her face rapturously beside him for a moment, then turned to me calmly:
"What do you know of Notely?" she said.
"Only what rumor knows, what may have been told you. His wife found no enduring attractions in this locality, you know: they have built a summer place at Bar Harbor; his wife and his mother and Mrs. Langham, it is said, are all devoted to his happiness. He has a fine yacht now, and is sometimes seen skipping by off shore. He is gifted in address and with the pen. His name is seen often."
Vesty listened hungrily.
"Have you seen him? Is he happy?"