"Married!" burst out the man with indignation. "What under heaven are you talkin' about, Celestina? Delight marry? Not she! She's too young. Besides, she's well enough content with Abbie an' the three captains an' me. Marry? Delight marry! Ridiculous!" "But you don't mean to say you expect a creature as pretty as she is not to marry," said Celestina aghast. "Oh, why, yes," ruminated Zenas Henry. "Of course she's goin' to get married sometime by an' by--mebbe in ten years or so. But not now." "Ten years or so! My goodness! Why, she'll be thirty or thirty-five, an' an old maid by that time." "No, she won't. I was forty-five before I married, an' it didn't do me no hurt or spoil my chances." "You might have been livin' with Abbie all them years, though." "I know it." He paused thoughtfully. "Yes," he reflected aloud, "I've often thought what a pity it was Abbie an' I didn't have our first youth together. It took me half a lifetime to find out how much I needed her." "You wouldn't want Delight should do that," ventured Celestina. "Delight? We ain't discussin' Delight," retorted Zenas Henry, promptly on the defensive. "Delight's another matter altogether. She's nothin' but a baby. There's no talk of her marryin' for a long spell yet." Peevishly he kicked the turf with the toe of his boot. Although he said no more, it was quite evident that he was much irritated. "Well," he presently observed in a calmer tone, "I reckon I'll go round an' waylay Willie." Celestina, leaning against the door frame, watched the gaunt, loose-jointed figure stride out into the sunshine and disappear behind the corner of the house. What a day it was! From beneath the lattice that arched the entrance to the cottage and supported a rambler rose bursting into bloom she could see the bay, blue as a sapphire and scintillating with ripples of gold. A weather-stained scow was making its way out of the channel, and above it circled a screaming cloud of tern that had been routed from their nesting place on the margin of white sand that bordered the path to the open sea. Mingling with their cries and the rhythmic pulsing of the surf, the clear voices of the men aboard the tug reached her ear. It was flood tide, and the water that surged over the bar stained its reach of pearl to jade green and feathered its edges with snowy foam. It was no weather to be cooped up indoors doing housework. Idly Celestina loitered, drinking in the beauty of the scene. The languor of summer breathed in the gentle, pine-scented air and rose from the warm earth of the garden. Voluptuously she stretched her arms and yawned; then straightening to her customary erectness she went into the house, being probably the only woman in Wilton who that morning had abandoned her domestic duties long enough to take into her soul the benediction of the world about her.