"I'm sorry the rest of them are not here," said Mr. Porter. "Evelyn ought to have been home before this. But you must come again. Come out and try the golf course and have dinner with us any time. I'm playing a little myself this summer. Evelyn and Grant can outdrive me all right; but they're not in it with me on putting. I'm one of the warmest putters on the links. You can find the shore path this way." He led John to an exit at the rear of the house, where there was an old apple orchard. "After you pass the lighthouse you come to a road that leads right into the village." John left his greetings for the rest of the household and turned away. It had all happened much more easily than he had expected. He had burned all his bridges behind him now; he would mail his letter in the village; not that it would be delivered any sooner, but because it fell in with his spirit of renunciation that it should go hence with the Orchard Lane postmark. He took it from his pocket and carried it in his hand. He found the walk very pleasant, with the rough shore of the bay on one hand and pretty villas on the other. Orchard Lane was not wholly a fiction of nomenclature. There were veritable lanes that survived the coming of fashion and wealth, and spoke of simpler times on these northern shores. The path was not altogether straight, but described a tortuous line past the lighthouse which crouched on a point of the bay. There was a train at six o'clock; it was now five and he loitered along, stopping often to look out upon the sea. A group of people was gathered about a tea table on the sloping lawn in front of one of the houses. The colors of the women's dresses were bright against the dark green. It was a gay company; their laughter floated out to him mockingly. He wondered whether Evelyn was there, as he passed on, beating the rocky path with his stick. Evelyn was not there; but her destination was that particular lawn and its tea table. Turning a fresh bend in the path he came upon her. He had had no thought of seeing her; yet she was coming down the path toward him, her picture hat framed in the dome of a blue parasol. He had renounced her for all time, and he should greet her guardedly; but the blood was singing in his temples and throbbing in his finger tips at the sight of her. "This is too bad!" she exclaimed, as they met. "I hope you can come back to the house." She walked straight up to him and gave him her hand in her quick, frank way. "I'm sorry, but I must go in to town on this next train," he answered. He turned in the path and walked along beside her. "This happened to be one of our scattering days, for all except father." "We had a nice talk, he and I. Your place is charming." They descended the shore path until they came to the villa where the tea drinkers were assembled. "Don't let me detain you. I'm sure you were going to join these lotus eaters."