The Tyranny of Weakness | Page 8

saint--and which, when her little teeth flashed and her
eyes kindled in a smile, broke into a dazzling and infectious gayety.
She was smiling now.
"'Up from the meadows rich with corn'?" she inquired, as though they
had parted yesterday.
Stuart Farquaharson broke into a peal of laughter as he caught the
extended hand in both his own and finished the quotation.
"Clear in the cool September morn, the clustered spires of Frederick
stand, Green-walled by the hills of Maryland ...
By the way," his voice took on a note of sudden trepidation--"you aren't
married, are you?"

It was a point upon which she did not at the moment resolve his doubts.
She was standing at gaze herself, critically taking him in. She let her
appraisal begin at the dark hair which the water had twisted into a
curling lawlessness and end at his feet which were somewhat small for
his stature. The general impression of that scrutiny was one which she
secretly acknowledged to be startlingly, almost thrillingly, favorable.
Then she realized that while one of her hands continued to dangle a wet
stocking, the other was still tightly clasped in his own and that he was
repeating his question.
"Why do you ask?" she naïvely inquired, as she quietly sought to
disengage her imprisoned fingers.
"Why!" he echoed, in a shocked voice, pretending unconsciousness of
her efforts at self-liberation. "Why does one ever ask a vital question?
The last time I saw you I told you candidly that I meant to marry you.
If you're already married--why, it might complicate matters, don't you
think?"
"It might," the young woman conceded. "It might even alter matters
altogether--but don't you think that even for a reunion we seem to have
shaken hands almost long enough?"
With reluctance he released the captive fingers and reminded her that
he was still unanswered.
"No," she told him, "I'm not married so far--of course I've tried hard,
but the honest gander hasn't volunteered."
"Thank God!" was his instant and fervent comment.
Beyond her were the sands of the bar and the Atlantic Ocean stretching
unbroken to the Madeiras and a flawless sky against which the gulls
dipped and screamed.
She was straight and vivid, and his pulses quickened, taking fire. Sun,
air and water; sparkle, radiance and color--these things were about him
filling his senses with delight and she seemed to epitomize them all in a

personal incarnation.
"Don't let me keep you standing," he begged her, belatedly
remembering his manners. "You were taking your case when I came.
Besides, Old Neptune in person will be along soon to claim this
sandbar for himself. Meanwhile, 'The time has come,' the walrus said,
'to talk of many things.'"
"As for instance?"
"As for instance that there's less of the fortuitous in this meeting than
appears upon the surface."
"Then you knew I was on the sandbar?"
Stuart Farquaharson shook his head. "I didn't even know that you were
at Chatham. I just got here this morning driving through to
Provincetown. But I did know that you were on Cape Cod, and that is
why I'm on Cape Cod."
She dropped lightly to the sand and sat nursing her knees between
interlocked fingers. Stuart Farquaharson spread himself luxuriantly at
length, propped on one elbow. He could not help noting that the bare
knee was dimpled and that the curved flesh below it was satin-smooth
and the hue of apple blossoms. The warm breeze kept stirring her hair
caressingly and, against the glare, she lowered her long lashes, half
veiling her eyes. But at his avowal of the cause of his coming her lips
curved with humorous scepticism.
"I'm afraid you acted very hastily," she murmured. "You've only known
I was here for about six years."
He nodded, entirely unruffled.
"I have only recently been promoted to the high office of 'Master of my
fate'--but before we get to that--where are you stopping?"
"Our party will be here at Chatham for several days. We're stopping at

The Arms."
"You speak of a party, and that makes me realize the imperative need
of improving this golden moment," Stuart Farquaharson announced
urbanely, "because I have certain rude and elementary powers of
deduction."
"Which lead you to what conclusion?" She turned eyes riffled with
amusement from the contemplation of a distant sail to his face, and he
proceeded to enlighten her.
"To two. First, that in Chatham, Massachusetts, as in the Valley of
Virginia, there is probably a Jimmy Hancock buzzing about. Secondly,
that since 'misfortunes come not single spies, but in battalions,' there
are probably a flock of Jimmies. By the by, will you swim out here
with me to-morrow morning?"
"To-morrow morning," she demurred. "I believe I have an engagement
for a horseback ride with Billy Stirling. We're going to look