Part 2 (1/2)

That imagination of his had a habit of running away with him. Perhaps that was a reason why his fiction had so good a run. His books were mostly all of the many-editioned kind. So, neglecting his own story for fiction of another kind, the time came of the going down of the sun. The tint of the vasty-deep changed: the sea grew greyer. His heroine-presumptive closed her book and rose; cried:

”Gracie!”

Seeing that the child's attention had been attracted, she turned, and bowing slightly, smilingly wished Masters:

”Good-day!”

From the sands, the little girl waved a vigorous c.u.mbered-with-bucket-and-spade good-bye to him. She evidently preferred jumping the breakwaters on the way home to the more easy path of the sea wall. The two pa.s.sed altogether from the author's sight. Not altogether from his mind.

Good-day! Yes, he felt it had been--distinctly good. Till he looked at clean pages, where writing should have been. Even then, despite the unfinished chapter, he made no alteration in his verdict.

It had been a good day.

CHAPTER III

SHE DISCOVERS THE AUTHOR

For nearly a week--before and after noon--they met. It was a sheltered spot Miss Mivvins walked out to each day. She had selected it on account of its freedom from cold winds: there was a seat on which to sit and read. At the same time a watchful eye could be kept on her playing-on-the-sands charge.

Masters had always used it. Neither now gave it up because of the other.

Each would have scornfully repudiated a suggestion that the regular seeking of it arose from any other reason. For instance, that it could be ascribed to the other's presence.

But would the repudiation have been honestly grounded? Cupid alone knows. The love-G.o.d is a deity enshrined in mystery. He never reveals the secrets of the wonders he performs. Were it possible to see the hand which lets loose the arrow, probably there would be many a stepping aside to avoid it. The sudden striking of the dart makes it so deadly--wounds to the heart.

Gracie and the author became fast friends. She was a winsome little soul, and children have their own methods of creating friends.h.i.+ps.

Masters met her advances more than half-way: was as fond of children as he was of flowers.

His friends--the nice friends who feel privileged to say nasty things--by reason of that fondness, professed to see in it a chance of his redemption. They admitted a possibility of his becoming humanized some day: said there was at least hope for him.

Beyond a Good Morning, and occasionally a remark on one of the tenses of the weather--past, present or future--the meetings were bare of conversation, so far as the adults were concerned.

Masters would have been more than glad to talk. Perhaps natural nervousness prevented his setting the conversational ball rolling. For he admired his companion of the seat with a fervent admiration--unable to label the feeling, as yet, by any other name.

Her presence did not disturb him now in his seclusion. She seemed to be in keeping with his thoughts. His thoughts of her harmonized with the surroundings--she belonged to them.

A vague sort of wonder took possession of him; how it was that he had never missed her--never known what was lacking. The more he saw of her, the more deep his admiration grew.

Admiration is the kind of thing which develops rapidly, once it germinates. In this instance the seed had thrown deep roots. Masters'

heart seemed likely to prove fruitful soil.

With Gracie he stood well. That, he felt, was a making of headway; for the governess unquestionably loved her charge. On the principle of love me, love my dog, he was acting wisely--apart from the pleasure it gave him--in this cultivation of the little one's affection.

When the child discovered his ability to manufacture stories she instantly--the exacting nature of her s.e.x in its dealings with man manifested itself even at that early age--demanded to be told one.

That was the introduction of the wedge's thin end: brought about a little change in the current of the elders' conversation. The lady in black came out of the ice-bound silence--fringed by a frigid Good Morning and Good Afternoon; saying:

”You must not let Gracie worry you.”