When visitors were by—­especially the neighboring women who likewise remembered Sarah Honey—­the masquerader often spoke in a way to reduce to a minimum any suspicion that she was not the rightful Ida May.  Even a visit from Annabell Coffin—­“she who was a Cuttle”—­went off without a remark being made which would yield a grain of doubt.

Mrs. Coffin had heard of Ida May while she visited “his folks” in Boston, in a most roundabout way.  She did say to the girl, however: 

“Let’s see, Ida May, didn’t they tell me that you worked for a spell in one of them great stores?  I wish you could see ’em, Aunt Prue!  The Marshall & Denham department store on Washington Street covers acres—­acres!  Was it there that you worked, Ida May?”

“No,” replied Ida May calmly.

“What store did you work in?”

“Hoskin & Marl’s,” said the girl, still unruffled.

“To be sure.  That’s what Esther Coffin said she heard, I remember.  But I never got to that store.  Couldn’t go to all of ’em.  It tired me to death, just going around Marshall & Denham’s.”

This and similar incidents were building blocks in the structure which she was raising.  Nor did she consider it a structure of deceit.  The foundation only was of doubtful veracity.  These people had accepted her as somebody she was not, it was true; but she gained nothing thereby that the real Ida May would not have had to win for herself.

With Tunis approving and encouraging her, how could the girl spend much time in doubt or any at all in despair?  She felt that she was a much better girl—­morally as well as physically—­in this environment than she had been for many, many months.  Instead of being conscience wrung in playing the part of impostor and living under an assumed name and identity, she felt a sense of self-congratulation.

And when in the company of the captain of the Seamew she felt almost exalted.  There was a pact between them that made their tie more than that of sister and brother.  Yet, of love they never spoke—­not during those first weeks on Wreckers’ Head.  He never failed to talk with Sheila as he came up from the town when the schooner lay at her moorings in the cove or was docked ready to discharge or take aboard freight.  Business remained good, but all was not plain sailing for the young shipmaster.  He confided in the girl many of his perplexities.  When he went away again, rain or shine, the girl did not fail to be up and about when he passed the Ball homestead.  He knew that she did this purposely—­that she was on the watch for him.  Her reason for doing so was not so clear to the young man, but he appreciated her interest.

Was he overmodest?  Perhaps.  He might have gained courage regarding the girl’s attitude toward him had he known that, on the nights he was at home, she sat in her darkened, upper room and watched the lamp he burned until it was extinguished.  On the other hand, Tunis Latham’s brotherly manner and cheerful kindness were a puzzle to Sheila.  She knew that he had been kinder to her than any other man she had ever met.  But what was the root of that kindness?