“What was your promise?” Jane’s eyes lost their searching look for an instant, but the tone of suspicion still vibrated.

Lucy hesitated and began playing with the trimming on her dress.

“Well, to tell you the truth, dear, a few days ago in a burst of generosity I got myself into something of a scrape.  Max wants his sister Sue to spend the summer with him, and I very foolishly promised to chaperon her.  She is delighted over the prospect, for she must have somebody, and I haven’t the heart to disappoint her.  Max has been so kind to me that I hate now to tell him I can’t go.  That’s all, dear.  I don’t like to speak of obligations of this sort, and so at first I only told you half the truth.”

“You should always keep your promise, dear,” Jane answered thoughtfully and with a certain relieved tone. (Sue was nearly thirty, but that did not occur to Jane.) “But this time I wish you had not promised.  I am sorry, too, for little Ellen.  She will miss her little garden and everything she loves here; and then again, Archie will miss her, and so will Captain Holt and Martha.  You know as well as I do that a hotel is no place for a child.”

“I am glad to hear you say so.  That’s why I shall not take her with me.”  As she spoke she shot an inquiring glance from the corner of her eyes at the anxious face of her sister.  These last lines just before the curtain fell were the ones she had dreaded most.

Jane half rose from her seat.  Her deep eyes were wide open, gazing in astonishment at Lucy.  For an instant she felt as if her heart had stopped beating.

“And you—­you—­are not going to take Ellen with you!” she gasped.

“No, of course not.”  She saw her sister’s agitation, but she did not intend to notice it.  Besides, her expectant ear had caught the sound of Max’s drag as it whirled through the gate.  “I always left her with her grandmother when she was much younger than she is now.  She is very happy here and I wouldn’t be so cruel as to take her away from all her pleasures.  Then she loves old people.  See how fond she is of the Captain and Martha!  No, you are right.  I wouldn’t think of taking her away.”

Jane was standing now, her eyes blazing, her lips quivering.

“You mean, Lucy, that you would leave your child here and spend two months away from her?”

The wheels were crunching the gravel within a rod of the porch.  Max had already lifted his hat.

“But, sister, you don’t understand—­” The drag stopped and Max, with uncovered head, sprang out and extended his hand to Jane.

Before he could offer his salutations Lucy’s joyous tones rang out.

“Just in the nick of time, Max,” she cried.  “I’ve just been telling my dear sister that I’m going to move over to Beach Haven to-morrow, bag and baggage, and she is delighted at the news.  Isn’t it just like her?”

CHAPTER XVII