The wedding was set for the end of September. I continued to go every week to Elkington, and in August, Maude and I spent a fortnight at the sea. There could be no doubt as to my mother's happiness, as to her approval of Maude; they loved each other from the beginning. I can picture them now, sitting together with their sewing on the porch of the cottage at Mattapoisett. Out on the bay little white-caps danced in the sunlight, sail-boats tacked hither and thither, the strong cape breeze, laden with invigorating salt, stirred Maude's hair, and occasionally played havoc with my papers.
"She is just the wife for you, Hugh," my mother confided to me. "If I had chosen her myself I could not have done better," she added, with a smile.
I was inclined to believe it, but Maude would have none of this illusion.
"He just stumbled across me," she insisted….
We went on long sails together, towards Wood's Hole and the open sea, the sprays washing over us. Her cheeks grew tanned…. Sometimes, when I praised her and spoke confidently of our future, she wore a troubled expression.
"What are you thinking about?" I asked her once.
"You mustn't put me on a pedestal," she said gently. "I want you to see me as I am—I don't want you to wake up some day and be disappointed. I'll have to learn a lot of things, and you'll have to teach me. I can't get used to the fact that you, who are so practical and successful in business, should be such a dreamer where I am concerned."
I laughed, and told her, comfortably, that she was talking nonsense.
"What did you think of me, when you first knew me?" I inquired.
"Well," she answered, with the courage that characterized her, "I thought you were rather calculating, that you put too high a price on success. Of course you attracted me. I own it."