in years--he was young--he was in love and he was very happy. Nor
was there any question, either, that Helen Page was happy. Those
who had known her since she was a child could not remember when
she had not been happy, but these days she wore her joyousness
with a difference. It was in her eyes, in her greetings to old
friends: it showed itself hourly in courtesies and kindnesses.
She was very kind to Latimer, too. She did not deceive him. She
told him she liked better to be with him than with any one
else,--it would have been difficult to deny to him what was
apparent to an entire summer colony,--but she explained that that
did not mean she would marry him. She announced this when the
signs she knew made it seem necessary. She announced it in what
was for her a roundabout way, by remarking suddenly that she did
not intend to marry for several years.

This brought Latimer to his feet and called forth from him
remarks so eloquent that Helen found it very difficult to keep
her own. She as though she had been caught in an undertow and was
being whirled out to sea. When, at last, she had regained her
breath, only because Latimer had paused to catch his, she shook
her head miserably.

"The trouble is," she complained, "there are so many think the
same thing!"

"What do they think?" demanded Latimer.

"That they want to marry me."

Checked but not discouraged, Latimer attacked in force.