“Your father, Eve? Do governesses have fathers? And is he here to help you?”
“I hope that he will help me,” she said. “I think he will.”
And she smiled brightly.
My heart grew cold, and froze beneath my ribs. “Then,” I said, “you will not need help from a fisherman, governess.”
“Adam,” she said, reproaching, “let us enjoy our clambake.”
“That is good doctrine, Eve,” said I, “and I will do my best. But how will your father know”—
“It is for him to find it,” she answered, “and he may, for he has eyes and a nose. Now I might find my way straight enough, for I see a smoking mound upon that point, beneath the pine. It seems a pleasant place, Adam.”
“That queer fellow that I mentioned let me use it,” I said in haste. “He is from home just now.”
“He seems a good friend of yours,” she said.
“At times I think he is,” I said, “and at other times he is the poorest friend I know.”