"Why, certainly. Are not your wishes my law?" and even as he spoke the sun slipped under a cloud. "What a wonderful man," Eleanor Hill laughed softly. The afternoon sped away all too rapidly, and the hours were as minutes to the happy young people skimming the waters of the beautiful sound. Nature was at her very best this sunshiny summer afternoon. Light fleecy clouds scudded swiftly across the delicious blue of the vaulted sky above, and in the distance the low, far-stretching, Long Island shore was bathed in a soft, violet haze, broken here and there by patches of white, glistening sand. The _Cyclone_, with every yard of canvas set, was running gayly before the breeze, which since noon had grown strong and steady. The swash of the water against the boat, the slight straining and creaking of the rigging, the sighing of the wind in the sails, were sounds sweet as music to the ear of every true lover of the sea. And now the summer day began to wane, and in the western sky the sun was shining with a brilliant radiance. "Ah!" sighed Jean softly, as they dropped anchor in Hetherford Harbor, "why do all pleasant things come to an end?" "But they invariably do," and there was a touch of genuine regret in Farr's voice, which was quite sincere; for in this last pleasant hour, he had thoroughly enjoyed a delightful _tête-à-tête_ with his pretty companion, and had every reason, in spite of the merry chaffing of these gay young strangers, to vote the day a great success. CHAPTER V. SUNSET-HOUR ON THE CLIFFS. The following morning the girls were collected together in the upper balcony of the manor, where the clustering vines afforded a welcome shelter from the sun's hot rays. A wicker table, laden down with books and work baskets, occupied a central position, and the low rockers which surrounded it were tilted swiftly back and forth as the girls worked and chatted in an easy, desultory way. On the wide old-fashioned settle in the background sat Eleanor Hill and Nan Birdsall; Eleanor lounging lazily back among the cushions, her hands resting idly in her lap, Nan all curled up in a heap, her sketchbook on her knee, her deft fingers making rapid strokes with a long, well-sharpened pencil. "Do you know," spoke Eleanor Hill, "I fear we behaved very badly yesterday. I have had qualms of conscience ever since, and a growing conviction that we made perfect fools of ourselves in the eyes of those two strange men." "Better that than dullards," laughed Nan lightly. "Hobson's choice," said Jean dryly. Just then Helen, with a somewhat preoccupied air, pushed back her chair and passed into the house, her mind evidently intent on some domestic question. Nathalie's eyes followed the retreating figure, until it was quite lost from view in the shadowy hallway, and then were bent thoughtfully on her work again.