At last we reached the friendly brightness of the New Inn windows; we trudged past them to the steps, we mounted them, and as the front door opened, the radiant vision burst upon us of Anne Ford, come a day before her time, fresh and charming and voluble—­voluble!  It seemed the last straw to our tired and over-taxed nerves, yet no one could have been more concerned and sympathetic, and that we were inclined not to be explicit as to details suited her exactly.  All the sooner could she get to her own affairs.  Sir Richard Leigh’s yacht was the burden of her lay, and that it was here and we had seen it added lustre to our adventures.  That we had not been on board and did not know him, was satisfactory too, and neither of us had the heart to speak of Cary.  We listened wearily, feeling colorless and invertebrate beside this brilliant creature, while Anne planned to send her card to him to-morrow, and conjectured gayeties for all of us, beyond.  Sir Richard Leigh and his yacht did not fill a very large arc on our horizon to-night.  Sally came into my room to tell me good-night, when we went up-stairs, and she looked so wistful and tired that I gave her two kisses instead of one.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling mistily.  “We won’t talk to-night, will we, Cousin Mary?” So without words, we separated.

Next morning as I opened my tired eyes on a world well started for the day, there came a tap at the door and in floated Anne Ford, a fine bird in fine feathers, wide-awake and brisk.

“Never saw such lazy people!” she exclaimed.  “I’ve just been in to see Sally and she refuses to notice me.  I suppose it’s exhaustion from shipwreck.  But I wasn’t shipwrecked, and I’ve had my breakfast, and it’s too glorious a morning to stay indoors, so I’m going to walk down to the water and look at Sir Richard’s boat, and send off my card to him by a sailor or something.  Then, if he’s a good boy, he will turn up to-day, and then—!” The end of Anne’s sentence was wordless ecstasy.

But the mention of the sailor had opened the flood-gates for me, and in rushed all my responsibilities.  What should I do with this situation into which I had so easily slipped, and let Sally slip?  Should I instantly drag her off to France like a proper chaperone?  Then how could I explain to Anne—­Anne would be heavy dragging with that lodestone of a yacht in the harbor.  Or could we stay here as we had planned and not see Cary again?  The unformed shapes of different questions and answers came dancing at me like a legion of imps as I lay with my head on the pillow and looked at Anne’s confident, handsome face, and admired the freshness and cut of her pale blue linen gown.

“Well, Cousin Mary,” she said at last, “you and Sally seem both to be struck dumb from your troubles.  I’m going off to leave you till you can be a little nicer to me.  I may come back with Sir Richard—­who knows!  Wish me good luck, please!” and she swept off on a wave of good-humor and good looks.