They corresponded after that—­Louise and Lawford.  As she could not hope to hear from the Curlew again until the schooner made the port of Boston, Lawford’s letters were the limit of her correspondence.  Louise had always failed to make many close friends among women.

Her interests aside from those at the store and with the movie people were limited, too.  The butterfly society of The Beaches did not much attract Louise Grayling.

Aunt Euphemia manifestly disapproved of her niece at every turn.  The Lady from Poughkeepsie had remained on the Cape for the full season in the hope of breaking up the intimacy between Louise and Lawford Tapp.  His absence, which she had believed so fortunate, soon proved to be merely provocative of her niece’s interest in the heir of the Taffy King.

Nor could she wean Louise from association with the piratical looking mariner at Cap’n Abe’s store.  The girl utterly refused to be guided by the older woman in either of these particulars.

“You are a reckless, abandoned girl!” Aunt Euphemia declared.  “I am sure, no matter what others may say, that awful sailor is no fit companion for you.

“And as, for Lawford Tapp——­Why, his people are impossible, Louise.  Wherever you have your establishment, if you marry him, his people, when they visit you will have to be apologized for,” the indignant woman continued.

“Let—­me—­see,” murmured Louise.  “How large an ‘establishment’ should you think, auntie, we could keep up on eighteen dollars a week?”

“Eighteen dollars a week!” exclaimed Aunt Euphemia, aghast.

“Yes.  That is Lawford’s present salary.  Wages, I think they call it at the factory.  He gets it in cash—­in a pay envelope.”

“Mercy, Louise!  You are not in earnest?”

“Certainly.  My young man is going to earn our living.  If he marries me his father will cut him off with the proverbial shilling.  I. Tapp has other matrimonial plans for Lawford.”

“What?” gasped the horrified Mrs. Conroth.  “He does not approve of you?”

“Too true, auntie.  I have driven poor Lawford to work in a candy factory.”

“That—­that upstart!” exploded the lady.  But she did not refer to Lawford.

It was evident that Aunt Euphemia saw nothing but the threat of storm clouds for her niece in the offing.  Trouble, deep and black, seemed, to her mind to be hovering upon the horizon of the future,

As it chanced, the weather about this time seemed to reflect Aunt Euphemia’s mood.  The summer had passed with but few brief tempests.  Seldom had Louise seen any phase of the sea in its wrath.

September, however, is an uncertain month at best.  For several days a threatening haze shrouded the distant sea line.  The kildees, fluttered and shrieked over the booming surf.

Washy Gallup, meeting Louise as she strolled on the beach, prognosticated: