She did not believe that her estimate of this young man was in any way
wide of the mark. And yet the thought of meeting him again had in it a
disturbing element for which she could not account. It worried her a
good deal that wild afternoon in January. Perhaps a suspicion that she
had once done young Cleveland an injustice strengthened the unwelcome
sense of regret, for it felt like regret in her mind.

Yet as she turned homeward along the windy shore one comforting
reflection came to her and remained with her. She was at least
unfeignedly glad that Captain Fisher was going to be there. She liked
those silent, strong men who did all the hard work and then stood aside
to let the tide of praise and admiration flood past.

Right well did her cousin's description fit this quiet hero, she told
herself with flushed cheeks.

She remembered how he had spoken of him as "doing splendid things in the
dark, as it were," as being "horribly modest." Fisher's heavy
personality came before her with the memory. She could detect the
heroism behind the grave exterior with which this man baffled all
others.

If Charlie had been a hero, too, instead of a frivolous imp of mischief!

A sigh rose in her heart. Somehow, even though she told herself she had
no interest in the matter, Molly wished that he were something more
valuable than the flippant looker-on she took him to be. How could any
man, who was worth anything, bear to be only that, she wondered?