“For what?”

“For staying in Newport.”

Before accepting the invitation she had formulated a policy, cheerfully confident in her ability to carry it out.  For his decision not to leave Newport had had an opposite effect upon her than that she had anticipated; it had oddly relieved the pressure.  It had given her a chance to rally her forces; to smile, indeed, at an onslaught that had so disturbed her; to examine the matter in a more rational light.  It had been a cause for self-congratulation that she had scarcely thought of him the night before.  And to-day, in her blue veil and blue serge gown, she had boarded the ‘Folly’ with her wits about her.  She forgot that it was he who, so to speak, had the choice of ground and weapons.

“I have forgiven you.  Why shouldn’t I, when you have so royally atoned.”

But he obstinately refused to fence.  There was nothing apologetic in this man, no indirectness in his method of attack.  Parry adroitly as she might, he beat down her guard.  As the afternoon wore on there were silences, when Honora, by staring over the waters, tried to collect her thoughts.  But the sea was his ally, and she turned her face appealingly toward the receding land.  Fascination and fear struggled within her as she had listened to his onslaughts, and she was conscious of being moved by what he was, not by what he said.  Vainly she glanced at the two representatives of an ironically satisfied convention, only to realize that they were absorbed in a milder but no less entrancing aspect of the same topic, and would not thank her for an interruption.

“Do you wish me to go away?” he asked at last abruptly, almost rudely.

“Surely,” she said, “your work, your future isn’t in Newport.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“It’s because I have no right to answer it,” she replied.  “Although we have known each other so short a time, I am your friend.  You must realize that.  I am not conventional.  I have lived long enough to understand that the people one likes best are not necessarily those one has known longest.  You interest me—­I admit it frankly—­I speak to you sincerely.  I am even concerned that you shall find happiness, and I feel that you have the power to make something of yourself.  What more can I say?  It seems to me a little strange,” she added, “that under the circumstances I should say so much.  I can give no higher proof of my friendship.”

He did not reply, but gave a sharp order to the crew.  The sheet was shortened, and the Folly obediently headed westward against the swell, flinging rainbows from her bows as she ran.  Mrs. Shorter and Dewing returned at this moment from the cabin, where they had been on a tour of inspection.

“Where are you taking us, Hugh?” said Mrs. Shorter.  “Nowhere in particular,” he replied.

“Please don’t forget that I am having people to dinner to-night.  That’s all I ask.  What have you done to him, Honora, to put him in such a humour?”