He took leave of her, and asked her to make his adieux to her aunt; but the next day he came down to the boat to see them off.  It seemed to him that their interview had ended too hastily; he felt sore and restless over it; he hoped that something more conclusive might happen.  But at the boat Miss Anderson and her aunt were inseparable.  Miss Van Hook said she hoped they should soon see him at the Hygeia, and he replied that he was not sure that he should be able to come after all.

Miss Anderson called something after him as he turned from them to go ashore.  He ran back eagerly to know what it was.  “Better lookout for that Mr. Lafflin of yours,” she repeated.

“Oh! oh yes,” he said, indefinitely disappointed.  “I shall keep a sharp eye on him.”  He was disappointed, but he could not have said what he had hoped or expected her to say.  He was humbled before himself for having told Miss Anderson about his affair with Alice, and had wished she would say something that he might scramble back to his self-esteem upon.  He had told her all that partly from mere weakness, from his longing for the sympathy which he was always so ready to give, and partly from the willingness to pose before her as a broken heart, to dazzle her by the irony and persiflage with which he could treat such a tragical matter; but he could not feel that he had succeeded.  The sum of her comment had been that Alice had served him right.  He did not know whether she really believed that or merely said it to punish him for some reason; but he could never let it be the last word.  He tingled as he turned to wave his handkerchief to her on the boat, with the suspicion that she was laughing at him; and he could not console himself with any hero of a novel who had got himself into just such a box.  There were always circumstances, incidents, mitigations, that kept the hero still a hero, and ennobled the box into an unjust prison cell.

L.

On the long sunny piazza of the Hygeia Mrs. Brinkley and Miss Van Hook sat and talked in a community of interest which they had not discovered during the summer before at Campobello, and with an equality of hearing which the sound of the waves washing almost at their feet established between them.  In this pleasant noise Miss Van Hook heard as well as any one, and Mrs. Brinkley gradually realised that it was the trouble of having to lift her voice that had kept her from cultivating a very agreeable acquaintance before.  The ladies sat in a secluded corner, wearing light wraps that they had often found comfortable at Campobello in August, and from time to time attested to each other their astonishment that they needed no more at Old Point in early April.

They did this not only as a just tribute to the amiable climate, but as a relief from the topic which had been absorbing them, and to which they constantly returned.

“No,” said Mrs. Brinkley, with a sort of finality, “I think it is the best thing that could possibly have happened to him.  He is bearing it in a very manly way, but I fancy he has felt it deeply, poor fellow.  He’s never been in Boston since, and I don’t believe he’d come here if he’d any idea how many Boston people there were in the hotel—­we swarm!  It would be very painful to him.”