Bartlett and Billy strolled down the winding street of the little seaside town, out on the pier and stood idly waiting for the evening mailboat to arrive. Henrietta and the general were coming on the evening boat to spend the autumn in a small cottage which the general was pleased to call his "shooting-box." But Bartlett’s pleasure at seeing Henrietta once more was mingled with worry and uneasiness over Billy and the Watermelon. He smoked thoughtfully and watched Billy warily, tenderly. She leaned against a pile and gazed over the vast unrest of the ocean to the distant horizon, with dreaming, unfathomable eyes. Bartlett knew of whom she was thinking, whom waiting for more and more eagerly every day now as August drew to a close and still he did not come. But this evening he had come, he was in the same neighborhood, drunk and probably hungry. When they met, as they must and that shortly, would he make a scene, become loud-mouthed, foul, abusive? It would be hard on Billy, and Bartlett wished vainly that he could spare her. But it was best that she should know, should understand fully and with a sudden quick cut it would be over with, the June madness when one is young and pretty and care-free. Billy would read her folly in the bleared eyes of a shiftless fool. Yet the boy was clever in getting out of a tight place, and Bartlett admired cleverness intensely, not being slow himself when it came to a hard bargain. The boy had gentle blood in his veins, too, more’s the pity. It was simply a case of a good family gone to seed. Poor little Billy and her puppy love! A most unfortunate affair, the whole mistaken, unhappy business! "There comes the _Mary Gloucester_," said Billy, breaking into his thoughts. She nodded toward the yacht, steaming majestically around the headland, pennons gaily waving and the bright awning a splash of color in the afterglow. "The _Mary Gloucester_," chuckled Bartlett. "That woman hasn’t the sense of her ugly little poodle dog." "I know," said Billy, "that is why I have always been so afraid of her." "Why afraid of her?" "For a mother," explained Billy unfortunately, but characteristically saying the wrong thing. Bartlett flushed. "You just admitted that she was a fool. Do you think I would marry that kind of a woman?" "Men always do," said Billy. "A fool’s bad enough, but a fool and money are simply irresistible." "You know too much for your age," said Bartlett coldly. "I don’t exactly know it," blundered Billy. "I just see it." "Billy, have you ever seen me—" "Yes, father. That night in the pavilion at the Ainsleys’—" "That will do, Billy." Billy was hurt. "I don’t mean to be nasty, father; but you asked me—" "There comes the mail boat," interrupted Bartlett firmly. Billy looked at it and sighed. It was the last of August and Jeroboam Martin had not come. Had he forgotten her in two short months?