He was reluctant to talk about himself and Pen could not ask questions. Consequently her hungry ears were obliged to pounce on the implications of his talk for information. He was of the great world it appeared. He knew everybody. He was not a mere philistine. He knew books, pictures, music; all that Pen thirsted for; and the people who made such things were among his friends. "Though I'm only a common stockbroker," he put in with a laugh. This pleased Pen. She thought: "I wouldn't want an artist for a lover"--and blushed for the thought. He was exactly what she wished him to be. It seemed to her magical that such a one should have been brought into her life if only for an hour or two. Only for an hour or two! She kept telling herself that firmly. "He'll be gone to-morrow and I wishing he had never come!" That was the explanation of the bitterness. She did ask him one question. "How on earth did you come to stray down here?" He said: "I read somewhere, years ago, what a lovely and little known country there was on the western shore of Chesapeake Bay ... I keep a canoe and a little tent handy in a club-house in New York. Whenever the world is too much with me I just paddle off for a few days." Pen's few minutes lengthened out into an hour and she had simply not the strength to send him away. In the end her father was seen approaching, his discolored straw hat placed just so, a jute bag over his arm. "I'm going over to the Island to get the mail," he said to Counsell in an offhand tone. "Like to come along? It's considered very picturesque." Counsell looked at Pen in indecision. He most assuredly did not want to go, but perhaps the best way to make headway with the girl was to be agreeable to the old man. You couldn't always tell. "Won't you come too?" he asked. Pen shook her head. "I've a hundred things to do." "Couldn't I help?" he asked eagerly. Pen laughed clearly. "Heavens! what do you know about turkey chicks? Or making butter and cleaning house?" He still hesitated. Pen arose briskly. "Run along," she commanded. "When you come back perhaps you'll stay to supper." She had not intended to ask him. It was surprised out of her. It surprised her father too. "Was that necessary?" his elevated eyebrows asked. He did not like this young man as well as he had in the beginning. Counsell blushed red with pleasure. "That is kind," he said. "Then mind you're back in time," said Pen, leaving them. "You never can tell about the engine in our boat." She flew about her work. The butter got itself made, and the eggs collected. Sundry small chicks were treated for the gaps, and the far wandering turkeys rounded up. Preparations were set on foot for a real Southern Maryland supper; soft crabs, fried chicken, hot biscuits, strawberry shortcake. If Pen had had her way she would have stuffed her young man like a Strasbourg goose.