“Oh, I shan’t be a great way from New York.  Maybe a trip or two over to my beloved Nantucket.”

This started her to thinking and presently to expatiating upon the dearest place on earth to her mind....  She told him how the villagers refused to have mail-service, as it threatened to destroy one of the important social features of the day, that of going to the post office for letters.  Also he was informed that automobiles were forbidden in Nantucket, and that a train started daily across the Island, a nine-mile journey, and sometimes arrived.  The conductor and engineer, both old seamen, were much more interested in a change of weather, a passing ship, or a school of fish, than in the immediate schedule or right of way....  And Cairns was given another glimpse of the enchantress that had been hidden so long in the workaday vesture of the little artist, as she unfolded: 

“To me, there’s real peace and silence away out there in the sea.  Every thought is a picture....  You know the little gray shingle houses are built very close together, and many are flush with the sidewalk.  They don’t draw the shades at night, and everyone uses little muslin curtains which conceal nothing.  One of my favorite things to do is to walk along Pleasant Street to Lily Lane, or through Vestal Street, just about dusk, and see the darling interiors of the spotless cottages.  Not really to stop nor stare, just to go softly and slowly by....  One house has little heads around the tea-table with father and mother; another has company for supper; and the next—­just old folks are left—­but all so radiant as they shine out through the old-fashioned window-panes....  To have one of those places for one’s own!  It has seemed the happiest destiny for me, but only for the very fortunate and elect....  I wonder if they ever know of the night-birds that flutter at the window-panes to see the happiness within?”

Cairns might have taken this very lightly; even with a reservation that she knew realities did not fit the ideal; that such realities were not for the elect always;—­but he chose to regard it instead, as an expression of Vina’s yearning, which she felt safe in disclosing for the sake of the ingenious picture she made....  He looked about this remarkable studio in the heart of New York, where a really great task was being wrought to endure.  Sometimes it seemed to him that the spirits of the saints came to rest in this place, where the woman worshipped them through her work....  And he knew she meant much that she said; that to her, work was not enough of the breath of life....  She had not completed her picture; rather life had not completed it for her.

Cairns confided in Bedient the Nantucket story, and an idea, occurred to the latter that delighted him.  It was one of the evenings when they dined together at the Club....  Another day, Cairns inquired of Vina what took her to Nantucket in summer, curious as to the material arrangement.