"I hope," he faltered, "that you feel like a sail, this morning? Did Mrs.
Maynard--"

"I shall have to excuse myself," answered Grace, with a conscience
against saying she was sorry. "I am a very bad sailor."

"Well, so am I, for that matter," said Mr. Libby. "But it's smooth as a
pond, to-day."

Grace made no direct response, and he grew visibly uncomfortable under
the cold abstraction of the gaze with which she seemed to look through
him. "Mrs. Maynard tells me you came over with her from Europe."

"Oh yes!" cried the young man, the light of pleasant recollection
kindling in his gay eyes. "We had a good time. Maynard was along: he's a
first-rate fellow. I wish he were here."

"Yes," said Grace, "I wish so, too." She did not know what to make of
this frankness of the young man's, and she did not know whether to
consider him very depraved or very innocent. In her question she
continued to stare at him, without being aware of the embarrassment to
which she was putting him.

"I heard of Mrs. Maynard's being here, and I thought I should find him,
too. I came over yesterday to get him to go into the woods with us."

Grace decided that this was mere effrontery. "It is a pity that he is not
here," she said; and though it ought to have been possible for her to go
on and rebuke the young fellow for bestowing upon Mrs. Maynard the
comradeship intended for her husband, it was not so. She could only look