He answered, “We shall assume from now on that you are a mad woman, and shall take our precautions accordingly.”

Again there was a silence.

“The launch will return to the mainland,” said van Tuiver at last.  “It will remain there until Mrs. Abbott sees fit to go ashore.  May I ask if she has sufficient money in her purse to take her to New York?”

I could not help laughing.  The thing was so wild—­and yet I could see that from their point of view it was the only thing to do.  “Mrs. Abbott is not certain that she is going back to New York,” I replied.  “If she does go, it will not be with Mr. van Tuiver’s money.”

“One thing more,” said Dr. Perrin.  It was the first time he had spoken since van Tuiver’s incredible announcement.  “I trust, Mrs. Abbott, that this unfortunate situation may at all costs be concealed from servants, and from the world in general.”

From which I realized how badly I had them frightened.  They actually saw me making physical resistance!

“Dr. Perrin,” I replied, “I am acting in this matter for my friend.  I will add this:  that I believe that you are letting yourself be overborne, and that you will regret it some day.”

He made no answer.  Douglas van Tuiver put an end to the discussion by rising and signalling the other launch.  When it had come alongside, he said to the captain, “Mrs. Abbott is going back to the railroad.  You will take her at once.”

Then he waited; I was malicious enough to give him an anxious moment before I rose.  Dr. Perrin offered me his hand; and Dr. Gibson said, with a smile, “Good-bye, Mrs. Abbott.  I’m sorry you can’t stay with us any longer.”

I think it was something to my credit that I was able to play out the game before the boatmen.  “I am sorry, too,” I countered.  “I am hoping I shall be able to return.”

And then came the real ordeal.  “Good-bye, Mrs. Abbott,” said Douglas van Tuiver, with his stateliest bow; and I managed to answer him!

As I took my seat, he beckoned his secretary.  There was a whispered consultation for a minute or two, and then the master returned to the smaller launch with the doctors.  He gave the word, and the two vessels set out—­one to the key, and the other to the railroad.  The secretary went in the one with me!

29.  And here ends a certain stage of my story.  I have described Sylvia as I met her and judged her; and if there be any reader who has been irked by this method, who thinks of me as a crude and pushing person, disposed to meddle in the affairs of others, here is where that reader will have his satisfaction and revenge.  For if ever a troublesome puppet was jerked suddenly off the stage—­if ever a long-winded orator was effectively snuffed out—­I was that puppet and that orator.  I stop and think—­shall I describe how I paced up and down the pier, respectfully but emphatically watched by the secretary?  And