He kept well on the other side of the street. It might perhaps be embarrassing if he met Becky while she was with her grandfather. He wanted to see her alone. With no one to interfere, he would be, he was sure, master of the situation.
He passed the house. The windows were open, and the white curtains blew out. But there was no one in sight. At the next corner, he accosted
a tall man in work clothes, with bronzed skin and fair hair.
"Can you tell me," George asked, "whether Admiral Meredith lives in that cottage—'The Whistling Sally'?"
"Yes. But he isn't there. He's gone to Boston."
George was conscious of a sense of shock.
"Boston?"
"Yes. He wasn't very well and he wanted to see his doctor."
"Has his—granddaughter gone with him?"
"Miss Becky? Yes."