Mrs. Page was indeed surprised when the train stopped at R——, and she stood on the platform and beheld her brother and her guest leave the car together. She was a vivacious little woman with a trim figure, and keen blue eyes that looked out beneath her sailor hat, full of lively interest in everything and everybody. She pounced upon the pair, and kissed them both with enthusiasm. "How perfectly delightful!" she exclaimed. "I couldn’t help worrying a little about you, Miss Bryant." ("Oh yes, Bryant was the name," thought Page.) "I knew you were not familiar with Boston, and although I had given you such detailed directions, I should have been frantic if you hadn’t come out of the car just when you did. Gorham, how did you happen to find her? Did you go out to Pearfield? How is Uncle Richard, Miss Bryant? There, Gorham, don’t let that stage go without us. Not the white one, the yellow. Is there room for three?" When they were in the stage that was to take them to the hotel, these queries and many more were answered before the long extent of surf came in sight, vividly blue beyond the firm white shore on which a foamy lacework melted. Mrs. Page ensconced her guest in a pleasant room near her own, and then returned to her own quarters with an impatient hope that her brother would seek her there. She had not long to wait, and she welcomed him eagerly. "What do you think of my new acquisition?" she asked, as she gave him a seat that commanded the ocean, and took one near by. "I was greatly surprised." "I thought you would be," said Hilda triumphantly; "but what do you think of her? Isn’t she handsome?" "Very," answered Page, looking dreamily out upon the water. "Haven’t you fallen in love with her, you wooden man?" "Hardly, yet. I suppose I shall, though," he added resignedly. Mrs. Page laughed so gleefully that he smiled. "It is all the queerest thing," she said with sudden serious zest. "I was belated in every sort of way about getting down here this year, and when I was finally ready it suddenly came over me that Uncle Richard was with Aunt Love in the character of a semi-invalid, and that it would be civil in me to call on him once, as he had come to see me on his way through the city." "It is odd that Jack hasn’t mentioned his father’s being at Pearfield, or his not being well. To be sure, I haven’t seen Jack since last March, still he would naturally have mentioned it in the few letters I’ve had from him." Mrs. Page lifted her finger impressively. "Jack doesn’t know one word about his father’s illness. Be sure you don’t mention it to him." "Call it fatigue. It isn’t illness, is it?" "Why, Gorham Page, he had a stroke early this spring." "No! Why, that is too bad. Surely it is wrong to keep it from Jack," said Page with a strong mental uprising of resentment against unknown scheming Bryants. Of course that innocent, inexperienced young creature of the train would have no word in the matter.