The Thatchers strolled along the edge of the pool and seated themselves on one of the benches at the farther end of the enclosure. "Here come Edith and Philip Hamlen," Marian called her husband's attention to the new arrivals; "where do you suppose she found him?" "Hello, people," Edith greeted them. "Mr. Hamlen has been waiting for you in the hotel, and I told him I thought we should find you here. This looks to me like a perfectly good party." "Come sit with us," Thatcher urged, drawing up another bench. "We elderly folk will watch the children at play." Edith suddenly caught sight of Cosden and she perceptibly stiffened. "Children!" she echoed, with an inflection of her voice and a toss of the head which attracted Marian's attention. "How is it that Mr. Cosden goes into the water? I should think he would be afraid of rust." "I supposed it was by your orders, Edith," Marian said smiling. "Isn't he still acting under your instructions? But why 'rust'?" "Certainly not by any orders of mine," she replied with emphasis. "What he needs as an adviser is a machinist to keep that wonderful business head of his in repair. Wouldn't you think it would rust if he got it wet?" Edith's new attitude was more intelligible to Marian than to the men, but discretion suggested a change of subject. "Harry is taking us home with him on Monday," she announced, suddenly turning to Hamlen and watching him narrowly as she spoke. "On Monday?" Hamlen repeated after her. The color rushed into his usually pale face, and a tremor in his voice showed how much the news affected him. "You are going Monday?" "The Thatcher family intact," Marian answered him; "I don't know about the others." "Of course Ricky and I go when you do," Edith added. "I'm quite ready. The place is beginning to pall on me." There was an injured look in Hamlen's face as he turned to her quickly. "Don't say that of my beautiful island!" he begged. "Oh, the place is all right," Edith assured him; "it is simply some of the foreign element I don't like." "Must you really go?" Hamlen asked Thatcher appealingly. "It is my master's voice, and we slaves of the market dare not disregard the call." Hamlen forced a smile. "I shall miss you," he said simply. "Come with us," Marian urged in a low voice. "That would make our visit here complete." The man made no response, yet she could see no signs of weakening. The color left his face and it was now more ashen than before. The lips were tightly compressed as if he feared to trust them, and his hands clenched the walking-stick he held in front of him with a grip of iron. He mastered himself at last, and the pathetic smile which wrung Marian's heart whenever she saw it returned to his face. It was too clearly the reflection of a wound which pride alone concealed from sight.