At the hostelry many of the habitues had come to a far different conclusion.  Marriage was not in either of their heads, they maintained; their intimacy was a purely platonic one, born of a friendship dating back to childhood—­they were cousins really—­ Max being the dearest and most unselfish creature in the world, he having given up all his pleasures elsewhere to devote himself to a most sweet and gracious lady whose grief was still severe and who would really be quite alone in the world were it not for her little daughter, now temporarily absent.

This summary of facts, none of which could be questioned, was supplemented and enriched by another conclusive instalment from Mrs. Walton Coates, of Chestnut Plains, who had met Lucy at Aix the year before, and who therefore possessed certain rights not vouchsafed to the other habitues of Beach Haven—­an acquaintance which Lucy, for various reasons, took pains to encourage—­Mrs. C.’s social position being beyond question, and her house and other appointments more than valuable whenever Lucy should visit Philadelphia:  besides, Mrs. Coates’s own and Lucy’s apartments joined, and the connecting door of the two sitting-rooms was often left open, a fact which established a still closer intimacy.  This instalment, given in a positive and rather lofty way, made plain the fact that in her enforced exile the distinguished lady not only deserved the thanks of every habitue of the hotel, but of the whole country around, for selecting the new establishment in which to pass the summer, instead of one of the more fashionable resorts elsewhere.

This outburst of the society leader, uttered in the hearing of a crowded piazza, had occurred after a conversation she had had with Lucy concerning little Ellen.

“Tell me about your little daughter,” Mrs. Coates had said.  “You did not leave her abroad, did you?”

“Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Coates!  I am really here on my darling’s account,” Lucy answered with a sigh.  “My old home is only a short distance from here.  But the air does not agree with me there, and so I came here to get a breath of the real sea.  Ellen is with her aunt, my dear sister Jane.  I wanted to bring her, but really I hadn’t the heart to take her from them; they are so devoted to her.  Max loves her dearly.  He drives me over there almost every day.  I really do not know how I could have borne all the sorrows I have had this year without dear Max.  He is like a brother to me, and so thoughtful.  You know we have known each other since we were children.  They tell such dreadful stories, too, about him, but I have never seen that side of him, he’s a perfect saint to me.”

From that time on Mrs. Coates was her loyal mouthpiece and devoted friend.  Being separated from one’s child was one of the things she could not brook; Lucy was an angel to stand it as she did.  As for Max—­no other woman had ever so influenced him for good, nor did she believe any other woman could.