CHAPTER I.

ANOTHER SUNDAY EVENING.





In the evening we met in Connie's room, as usual, to have our talk. And
this is what came out of it.

The window was open. The sun was in the west. We sat a little aside out
of the course of his radiance, and let him look full into the room. Only
Wynnie sat back in a dark corner, as if she would get out of his way. Below
him the sea lay bluer than you could believe even when you saw it--blue
with a delicate yet deep silky blue, the exquisiteness of which was thrown
up by the brilliant white lines of its lapping on the high coast, to the
northward. We had just sat down, when Dora broke out with--

"I saw Niceboots at church. He did stare at you, papa, as if he had never
heard a sermon before."

"I daresay he never heard such a sermon before!" said Connie, with the
perfect confidence of inexperience and partiality--not to say ignorance,