“He’s funny. He’s got lots of that Western humor, and he tells a story better than any man I ever saw. There was one story of his”— “I have no sense of humor,” interrupted Grace impatiently. “Mr. Libby,” she broke out, “I’m sorry that you’ve asked Mrs. Maynard to take a sail with you. The sea air”—she reddened with the shame of not being able to proceed without this wretched subterfuge—“won’t do her any good.” “Then,” said the young man, “you mustn’t let her go.” “I don’t choose to forbid her,” Grace began. “I beg your pardon,” he broke in. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He turned, and ran to the edge of the cliff, over which he vanished, and he did not reappear till Mrs. Maynard had rejoined Grace on the piazza. “I hope you won’t mind its being a little rough, Mrs. Maynard,” he said, breathing quickly. “Adams thinks we’re going to have it pretty fresh before we get back.” “Indeed, I don’t want to go, then!” cried Mrs. Maynard, in petulant disappointment, letting her wraps fall upon a chair. Mr. Libby looked at Grace, who haughtily rejected a part in the conspiracy. “I wish you to go, Louise,” she declared indignantly. “I will take the risk of all the harm that comes to you from the bad weather.” She picked up the shawls, and handed them to Mr. Libby, on whom her eyes blazed their contempt and wonder. It cost a great deal of persuasion and insistence now to make Mrs. Maynard go, and he left all this to Grace, not uttering a word till he gave Mrs. Maynard his hand to help her down the steps. Then he said, “Well, I wonder what Miss Breen _does_ want.” “I’m sure _I_ don’t know,” said the other. “At first she didn’t want me to go, this morning, and now she makes me. I do hope it isn’t going to be a storm.” “I don’t believe it is. A little fresh, perhaps. I thought you might be seasick.” “Don’t you remember? I’m never seasick! That’s one of the worst signs.” “Oh, yes.” “If I could be thoroughly seasick once, it would be the best thing I could do.” “Is she capricious?” asked Mr. Libby. “Grace?” cried Mrs. Maynard, releasing her hand half-way down the steps, in order to enjoy her astonishment without limitation of any sort. “_Grace_ capricious!” “Yes,” said Mr. Libby, “that’s what I thought. Better take my hand again,” and he secured that of Mrs. Maynard, who continued her descent. “I suppose I don’t understand her exactly. Perhaps she didn’t like my not calling her Doctor. I didn’t call her anything. I suppose she thought I was dodging it. I was. I should have had to call her Miss Breen, if I called her anything.” “She wouldn’t have cared. She isn’t a doctor for the name of it.” “I suppose you think it’s a pity?” he asked. “What?” “Her being a doctor.” “I’ll tell her you say so.” “No, don’t. But don’t you?” “Well, I wouldn’t want to _be_ one,” said Mrs. Mayward candidly. “I suppose it’s all right, if she does it from a sense of duty, as you say,” he suggested.