“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” she observed, gravely.

The assistant murmured a good morning, from force of habit.

“There’s another piece you haven’t picked up,” continued the visitor, pointing.

Brown picked up the piece.

“Is Mr. Atkins in?” inquired the girl.

“Yes, he’s—­he’s in.”

“May I see him, please?”

“I—­I—­”

“If he’s busy, I can wait.”  She seated herself in a chair.  “Don’t let me interrupt you,” she continued.  “You were busy, too, weren’t you?”

“I was washing dishes,” declared Brown, savagely.

“Oh!”

“Yes.  Washing and sweeping and doing scrubwoman’s work are my regular employments.”

“Indeed!  Then I’m just in time to help.  Is this the dish towel?” regarding it dubiously.

“It is, but I don’t need any help, thank you.”

“Of course you do.  Everyone is glad to be helped at doing dishes.  I may as well make myself useful while I’m waiting for Mr. Atkins.”

She picked up a platter and proceeded to wipe it, quite as a matter of course.  Brown, swearing inwardly, turned fiercely to the suds.

“Did you wish to see Atkins on particular business?” he asked, a moment later.

“Oh, no; I wanted to make his acquaintance, that’s all.  Horace told me so many interesting things about him.  By the way, was it last summer, or the summer before, that you met my brother here?”

No answer.  Miss Graham repeated her question.  “Was it last summer or the summer before?” she asked.

“Oh—­er—­I don’t remember.  Last summer, I think.”

“Why, you must remember.  How could any one forget anything that happened down here?  So few things do happen, I should say.  So you met him last summer?”

“Yes.”

“Hum! that’s odd.”

“Shall I call Atkins?  He’s in his room.”

“I say it is odd, because, when Mrs. Bascom and I first met you, you told us this was your first summer here.”

There wasn’t any answer to this; at least the assistant could think of none at the moment.

“Do you wish me to call Atkins?” he asked, sharply.  “He’s asleep, but I can wake him.”

“Oh! he’s asleep.  Now I understand why you whisper even when you sw—­that is, when you break a plate.  You were afraid of waking him.  How considerate you are.”

Brown put down the dishcloth.  “It isn’t altogether consideration for him—­or for myself,” he said grimly.  “I didn’t care to wake him unless you took the responsibility.”

“Why?”

“Because, Miss Graham, Seth Atkins took the position of lightkeeper here almost for the sole reason that no women ever came here.  Mr. Atkins is a woman-hater of the most rabid type.  I’ll wake him up if you wish, but I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”

The young lady stared at him in surprise, delighted surprise apparently, judging by the expression of her face.