could not know that the subject of letting Windles for the summer was
one which had long since begun to infuriate Mrs. Hignett. People had
certainly asked her to let Windles. In fact people had pestered her. There
was a rich fat man, an American named Bennett, whom she had met just
before sailing at her brother's house in London. Invited down to Windles
for the day, Mr. Bennett had fallen in love with the place and had begged
her to name her own price. Not content with this, he had pursued her
with his pleadings by means of the wireless telegraph while she was on
the ocean, and had not given up the struggle even when she reached New
York. He had egged on a friend of his, a Mr. Mortimer, to continue the
persecution in that city. And, this very morning, among the letters on
Mrs. Hignett's table, the buff envelope of a cable from Mr. Bennett had
peeped out, nearly spoiling her breakfast. No wonder, then, that Sam's
allusion to the affair had caused the authoress of "The Spreading
Light" momentarily to lose her customary calm.

"Nothing will induce me ever to let Windles," she said with finality,
and rose significantly. Sam, perceiving that the audience was at an
end--and glad of it--also got up.

"Well, I think I'll be going down and seeing about that state-room," he
said.

"Certainly. I am a little busy just now, preparing notes for my next
lecture."

"Of course, yes. Mustn't interrupt you. I suppose you're having a great
time, gassing away--I mean--well, good-bye!"

"Good-bye!"