"No; I am a stranger here. Your little nephew is the first friendly face I have seen." "I hope you will be neighborly at the Lodge, then. It is just on the edge of the bluff, and the latch-string is always out. So are we, for that matter. We spend most of our time down here, all of us but Phebe. She infests the golf links." "You are a golf enthusiast, then Miss McAlister?" "Yes. Aren't you?" "No; not just now, at least. Have they good links here?" "Very." Phebe rose as she spoke. "Where are you going, Babe?" Hope asked. "Down to take one more plunge, then back to the house. I'm going out early this afternoon, and I must be ready." Theodora's next remark fell upon empty ears. Gifford Barrett was watching Phebe as she went away, admiring her tall, lithe figure, her well-set head, and wondering why in the name of all that was musical this girl should snub him so roundly. He searched his mind in vain for some just cause of personal offence; he could not realize that, in Phebe's present state of mind, there was no interest at all for her in a man who could neither swim nor play golf, and that it was characteristic of Phebe McAlister never to hide her feelings. Meanwhile, it was the first time in his life that he had been snubbed by any girl, and he found the experience novel, interesting and by no means satisfactory. As he left the awning and strolled away up the beach, he was resolving that incense and solitude should give way to snubbing. He would see more, much more of this taciturn young woman, force her to talk and, if possible, undermine her antipathy to himself. Unhappily for Gifford Barrett, however, his conceit was playing him false. Phebe felt no antipathy to him, none whatever; she was only completely indifferent to the very fact of his existence, and she went round the links, that afternoon with a healthy forgetfulness of the fact that she had ever set eyes upon the tall person of the greatest American composer. CHAPTER FIFTEEN "Papa," Allyn said bravely; "I'd like to have a talk with you, before the day is over." Dr. McAlister looked up in surprise, for the boy's tone was weighted with meaning. During the two or three weeks that they had spent at the shore, Dr. McAlister had been congratulating himself upon the change in his young son. Allyn had seemed brighter, happier, more like the normal boy of his age, and his father had been hoping that some mental crisis was past, that the old moodiness had vanished. For the last day or two, however, Allyn's face had been overcast, and the doctor's anxiety had returned to him once more. Nevertheless, there was no trace of this in his voice, as he answered,-- "I wanted to go for a drive on the moors, this afternoon, and I had wondered whether I could get somebody to go with me. Will you be ready, right after dinner?"