“Where on earth have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve been huntin’ all over for you. Me and Cap’n Foster, was over to Bayport and that tempest hit on top of us afore we knew ’twas bound down this way. Soon’s we fetched home he sent me out for you. Been standin’ there on that Nickerson piazza all the time, have ye? You don’t look very wet. Who was that along with you?” Esther did not tell him. What was the use? He would only ask more questions. “Oh, just some one from the rehearsal,” she said. “We were waiting there until the storm was over. I am not wet at all. Drive home as fast as you can. Uncle Foster will be worried.” She did not tell her uncle of the meeting and long talk with Bob Griffin. There was no reason why she should not, of course--but perhaps there was less reason why she should. CHAPTER VII She and Bob met thereafter at the rehearsals. There were few opportunities for confidential chats like that on the Nickerson porch during the storm, but occasionally he saw a chance to sit beside her on a settee when the others were busy and whenever he did he seized it. On one occasion he brought a few of his sketches to the vestry and showed them to her. They were clever--even to a critical eye they would have shown promise--and to her they seemed wonderful. He told her that he had hired an empty shed belonging to Tobias Eldridge on the beach near the latter’s property at South Harniss and was to use it as a studio during the summer months. “It’s a ripping place,” he declared, with enthusiasm. “Cheap, and off by itself, you know, and looking right out to sea. I can draw and paint there, and have a gorgeous time. It is far enough from home so that I won’t be bothered with a lot of people I know dropping in and interrupting and I can have a model once in a while, if I need one. Two or three of the fishermen have posed for me already. They are good fellows. I like to hear them talk. I want you to come down and let me make that sketch of you in your costume some afternoon pretty soon. Will you? The place smells a little of fish, but you won’t mind that.” She would not have minded the fish, but she would not promise to visit the beach studio. At the next rehearsal he confided another bit of news. “I’ve begun that portrait of you,” he said. “Just roughed it in--from memory, you know--but it is going to be good, I can see that already. Oh, you needn’t laugh! I sound pretty cocky, perhaps, but--well, I _am_ cocky about that sketch. It _looks_ like you; honest it does!” She laughed again. “You haven’t seen me more than a half dozen times altogether,” she said. “If your portrait looks like me you must have a pretty good memory, I should say.” He nodded contentedly. “I have--for some people,” he declared. His tone was so emphatic, that, although she still laughed, the color rose to her cheeks. She changed the subject.