They crossed the deck and entered the boat-maker's shop, and I crept down where I could peer in at an open port-hole. Several brass ship-lamps of an odd pattern lighted the place brilliantly, and I was surprised to note the unusual furnishings of the room. The end nearest my port-hole was a shop, with a carpenter's bench with litter all about that spoke of practical use. Two canoes in process of construction lay across frames contrived for the purpose, and overhead was a rack of lumber hung away to dry. The men remained at the farther end of the house--it was, I should say, about a hundred feet long--which, without formal division, was fitted as a sitting-room, with a piano in one corner, and a long settle against the wall. In the center was a table littered with books and periodicals; and a woman's sewing-basket, interwoven with bright ribbons, gave a domestic touch to the place. On the inner wall hung a pair of foils and masks. Pictures from illustrated journals--striking heads or outdoor scenes--were pinned here and there. The new-comer stared about, twirling a Tweed cap nervously in his hands, while Holbrook carefully extinguished the lantern and put it aside. His visitor was about fifty, taller than he, and swarthy, with a grayish mustache, and hair white at the temples. His eyes were large and dark, but even with the length of the room between us I marked their restlessness; and now that he spoke it was in a succession of quick rushes of words that were difficult to follow. Holbrook pushed a chair toward the stranger and they faced each other for a moment, then with a shrug of his shoulders the older man sat down. Holbrook was in white flannels, with a blue scarf knotted in his shirt collar. He dropped into a big wicker chair, crossed his legs and folded his arms. "Well," he said in a wholly agreeable tone, "you wanted to see me, and here I am." "You are well hidden," said the other, still gazing about. "I imagine I am, from the fact that it has taken you seven years to find me." "I haven't been looking for you seven years," replied the stranger hastily; and his eyes again roamed the room. The men seemed reluctant to approach the business that lay between them, and Holbrook wore an air of indifference, as though the impending interview did not concern him particularly. The eyes of the older man fell now upon the beribboned work-basket. He nodded toward it, his eyes lighting unpleasantly. "There seems to be a woman," he remarked with a sneer of implication. "Yes," replied Holbrook calmly, "there is; that belongs to my daughter." "Where is she?" demanded the other, glancing anxiously about. "In bed, I fancy. You need have no fear of her." Silence fell upon them again. Their affairs were difficult, and Holbrook, waiting patiently for the other to broach his errand, drew out his tobacco-pouch and pipe and began to smoke. "Patricia is here, and Helen is with her," said the visitor.