For some moments the older and the younger man smoked in silence. The sun set in due time and Captain David's Light appeared. "What a living thing a lighthouse is!" said Thornly; "that and an open fire have the same vital, human interest." "I believe you are right. When I find myself bad company, I always have a fire built if the temperature is below seventy. Since I came here I've taken to this side of the veranda, late afternoons, and I grow quite chummy with Cap'n Davy's Light." Mr. Devant got up, stretched himself and took to pacing the piazza slowly. "You know David of the Light?" asked Thornly. "As a boy I knew the characters roundabout here, somewhat. I'm trying to reinstate myself in their good graces. This place produces strange and unexpected types." "Yes, I found a pimpernel flower on the Hills to-day," said Thornly irrelevantly. "Even the flora is startling." "You found what?" "A pimpernel. It's a common wild flower in some sandy places, but a strange enough little rascal to be seen just here. It's called the poor man's weather glass. Where it grows most common, it is not especially noticeable; but it almost took my breath this morning. It's in keeping with the surprises of the surroundings." Devant laughed. "Well," he said presently, "it must be a relation, same family, you know, of a pimpernel of a girl I've discovered here." Thornly again contracted his brows. "Solitary flower? Shutting up at approach of storm, and all the rest?" he asked. "Solitary flower, all right," Devant rejoined. "I'm not up on plant-ology, but I've studied humans, off and on, and I cannot account for this one. I don't know whether, in my position as friend to you, I should bring this odd specimen to your notice, but I'd like to have you, as an artist, pass judgment upon her beauty." "I might have the storm's effect upon this pimpernel of yours," Thornly put in, "make her hide within herself." "I fancy storms would not daunt her. I don't know but that she would rather enjoy them." Thornly yawned secretly. "Handsome, is she?"