"Really I am.... Couldn't that old house be fixed over inexpensively? You know it's nearly two hundred years old, and the lines are good if the gingerbread verandas and modern bay windows are done away with." He nodded; and she went on with shy enthusiasm: "I don't really know anything about gardens, except I know that I should adore them.... I thought of a garden--just a simple one.... And some cows and chickens. And one nice old horse.... It is really very pretty there in spring and summer. And the bay is so blue, and the salt meadows are so sweet.... And the cemetery is near.... I should not wish to alter mother's room very much.... I'd turn the bar into a sun parlour.... But I'd keep the stove ... where you and I sat that evening and ate peach turnovers.... About how much do you suppose the place could be bought for?" "I haven't the least idea, Athalie. But I'll see what can be done to-morrow.... It ought to be a good purchase. You can scarcely go wrong on Long Island property if you buy it right." "Will you see about it, Clive?" "Of course I will, you dear girl!" he said, dropping his hand over hers where it lay between them. She smiled up at him. Then, distrait, turned her blue eyes toward the window, and remained gazing out at the late afternoon sky where a few white clouds were sailing. "'Clouds and ships on sky, and sea,'" she murmured to herself.... "'And God always at the helm.' Why do men worry? All sail into the same port at last." He bent over her: "What are you murmuring all to yourself down there?" he asked, smilingly. "Nothing much,--I'm just watching the driftsam and flotsam borne on the currents flowing through my mind--flowing through it and out again--away, somewhere--back to the source of thought, perhaps." He was still bending above her, and she looked up dreamily into his eyes. "Do you think I shall ever have my garden?" she asked. "All things good must come to you, Athalie." She laughed, looking up into his eyes: "You meant that, didn't you? 'All things good'--yes--and other things, too.... They come to all I suppose.... Tell me, do you think my profession disreputable?" "You have made it otherwise, haven't you?" "I don't know. I'm eternally tempted. My intelligence bothers me. And where to draw the line between what I really see and what I divine by deduction--or by intuition--I scarcely know sometimes.... I try to be honest.... When you came in just now, were they calling an extra?" "Yes." "Did you hear what they were calling?" "Something about the _Empress of Borneo_ being reported safe." She nodded. Then: "That is the hopeless part of it. I can sometimes help others; never myself.... I suppose you have no idea how many, many hours I have spent looking for you.... I never could find you. I have never found you in my crystal, or in my clearer vision, or in my dreams; ... never heard your voice, never had news of you except by common report in everyday life.... Why is it, I wonder?"