you? Has it for you, Molly?"

On the island a thrush had begun to sing. Molly raised her head, as if
to listen. The water lapped against the sides of the canoe.

"Has it, Molly?"

She bent over, and dabbled one finger in the water.

"I--I think it has, Jimmy," she whispered.




CHAPTER XII.


The Honorable Louis Wesson, meanwhile, having left the water side, lit
a cigarette, and proceeded to make a moody tour of the grounds. He
felt aggrieved with the world. One is never at one's best and sunniest
when a rival has performed a brilliant and successful piece of
cutting-out work beneath one's very eyes. Something of a jaundiced
tinge stains one's outlook on life in such circumstances. Mr. Wesson
did not pretend to himself that he was violently in love with Molly.
But he certainly admired her, and intended, unless he changed his mind
later on, to marry her.

He walked, drawing thoughtfully at his cigarette. The more he reviewed
the late episode, the less he liked it. He had not seen Jimmy put
Molly in the canoe, and her departure seemed to him a deliberate