“’Sconset?  Where’s ’Sconset?”

“Across the island.”

“How can I get there?”

“You can motor over.  There’s a ’bus, or you can get a car.”

So the next morning, George took the ’bus.  He saw little beauty in the moor.  He thought it low and flat.  His heart leaped with the thought that every mile brought him nearer Becky—­his white dove—­whom he had—­hurt!

He was set down by the ’bus at the post-office.  He asked his way, and was directed to a low huddle of gray houses on a grassy street.  “It is the ‘Whistling Sally,’” the driver of the ’bus had told him.

When George reached “The Whistling Sally,” he felt that there must be some mistake.  Here was no proper home for an Admiral or an heiress.  His eyes were blind to the charms of the wooden young woman with the puffed-out cheeks, to the beauty of silver-gray shingles, of late flowers blooming bravely in the little garden.

He kept well on the other side of the street.  It might perhaps be embarrassing if he met Becky while she was with her grandfather.  He wanted to see her alone.  With no one to interfere, he would be, he was sure, master of the situation.

He passed the house.  The windows were open, and the white curtains blew out.  But there was no one in sight.  At the next corner, he accosted a tall man in work clothes, with bronzed skin and fair hair.

“Can you tell me,” George asked, “whether Admiral Meredith lives in that cottage—­’The Whistling Sally’?”

“Yes.  But he isn’t there.  He’s gone to Boston.”

George was conscious of a sense of shock.

“Boston?”

“Yes.  He wasn’t very well and he wanted to see his doctor.”

“Has his—­granddaughter gone with him?”

“Miss Becky?  Yes.”

“But—­the windows of the house are open——­”

“I open them every morning.  The housekeeper is in Nantucket.  But they are all coming back at the end of the week.”

“Coming back?” eagerly; “the Admiral, and Miss Bannister?”

“Yes.”

George drew a long breath.  He walked back with Tristram to the low gray house.  “Queer little place,” he said.

Tristram eyed him with easy tolerance.  “Of course it seems queer if you aren’t used to it——­”

“I thought the Admiral had money.”

“Well, he has.  But he forgets it out here——­”

“Is there a good hotel?”

“Yes.  It is usually closed by now.  But they are keeping it open for some guests who are up for the hunting.”

The hotel was a pleasant rambling structure, and overlooked the sea.  George engaged a room for Saturday—­and said that his man would bring his bags.  He would have his lunch and take the afternoon ’bus back to Nantucket.