In all these merrymakings and outings Lucy was the central figure.  Her beauty, her joyous nature, her freedom from affectation and conventionality, her love of the out-of-doors, her pretty clothes and the way she wore them, all added to her popularity.  In the swing and toss of her freedom, her true temperament developed.  She was like a summer rose, making everything and everybody glad about her, loving the air she breathed as much for the color it put into her cheeks as for the new bound it gave to her blood.  Just as she loved the sunlight for its warmth and the dip and swell of the sea for its thrill.  So, too, when the roses were a glory of bloom, not only would she revel in the beauty of the blossoms, but intoxicated by their color and fragrance, would bury her face in the wealth of their abundance, taking in great draughts of their perfume, caressing them with her cheeks, drinking in the honey of their petals.

This was also true of her voice—­a rich, full, vibrating voice, that dominated the room and thrilled the hearts of all who heard her.  When she sang she sang as a bird sings, as much to relieve its own overcharged little body, full to bursting with the music in its soul, as to gladden the surrounding woods with its melody—­because, too, she could not help it and because the notes lay nearest her bubbling heart and could find their only outlet through the lips.

Bart was her constant companion.  Under his instructions she had learned to hold the tiller in sailing in and out of the inlet; to swim over hand; to dive from a plank, no matter how high the jump; and to join in all his outdoor sports.  Lucy had been his constant inspiration in all of this.  She had surveyed the field that first night of their meeting and had discovered that the young man’s personality offered the only material in Warehold available for her purpose.  With him, or someone like him—­one who had leisure and freedom, one who was quick and strong and skilful (and Bart was all of these)—­ the success of her summer would be assured.  Without him many of her plans could not be carried out.

And her victory over him had been an easy one.  Held first by the spell of her beauty and controlled later by her tact and stronger will, the young man’s effrontery—­almost impudence at times—­had changed to a certain respectful subservience, which showed itself in his constant effort to please and amuse her.  When they were not sailing they were back in the orchard out of sight of the house, or were walking together nobody knew where.  Often Bart would call for her immediately after breakfast, and the two would pack a lunch-basket and be gone all day, Lucy arranging the details of the outing, and Bart entering into them with a dash and an eagerness which, to a man of his temperament, cemented the bond between them all the closer.  Had they been two fabled denizens of the wood—­she a nymph and he a dryad—­they could not have been more closely linked with sky and earth.