"I'd like a drink of water, please," said Eleanor--"plain water," she added with a significance that could not have been overlooked by a guilty conscience. But the woman seemed to sense no ulterior meaning. "I'll fetch it," she said in a good-humoured voice, going to the sink. While she was manipulating the pump, the girl moved nearer, frankly taking stock of her. The dim impression retained from their meeting in the early morning was merely emphasised by this second inspection; the woman was built on generous lines--big-boned, heavy and apparently immensely strong. A contented and easy-going humour shone from her broad, coarsely featured countenance, oddly contending with a suggestion of implacable obstinacy and tenacious purpose. "Here you are," she said presently, extending a glass filmed with the breath of the ice-cold liquid it contained. "Thank you," said Eleanor; and drank thirstily. "Who are you?" she demanded point blank, returning the glass. "Mrs. Clover," said the woman as bluntly, if with a smiling mouth. "Where am I?" "Well"--the woman turned to the stove and busied herself with coffee-pot and frying-pan while she talked--"this _was_ the Wreck Island House oncet upon a time. I calculate it's that now, only it ain't run as a hotel any more. It's been years since there was any summer folks come here--place didn't pay, they said; guess that's why they shet it up and how your pa come to buy it for a song." "Where is the Wreck Island House, then?" Eleanor put in. "_On_ Wreck Island, of course." "And where is that?" "In Long Island Sound, about a mile off 'n the Connecticut shore. Pennymint Centre's the nearest village." "That means nothing to me," said the girl. "How far are we from New York?" "I couldn't rightly say--ain't never been there. But your pa says--I heard him tell Eph once--he can make the run in his autymobile in an hour and a half. That's from Pennymint Centre, of course." Eleanor pressed her hands to her temples, temporarily dazed by the information. "Island," she repeated--"a mile from shore--New York an hour and a half away ...!" "Good, comfortable, tight little island," resumed Mrs. Clover, pleased, it seemed, with the sound of her own voice; "you'll like it when you come to get acquainted. Just the very place for a girl with your trouble." "My trouble? What do you know about that?" "Your pa told me, of course. Nervous prostration's what he called it--says as you need a rest with quiet and nothing to disturb you--plenty of good food and sea air--" "Oh stop!" Eleanor begged frantically. "Land!" said the woman in a kindly tone--"I might 've known I'd get on your poor nerves, talking all the time. But I can't seem to help it, living here all alone like I do with nobody but Eph most of the time.... There!" she added with satisfaction, spearing the last rasher of bacon from the frying-pan and dropping it on a plate--"now your breakfast's ready. Draw up a chair and eat hearty."