“Yes. I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but my daughter has spoken of you often. She is a great admirer of yours. I won't tell you all the nice things she has said about you, for she has probably said them to you or to your son, already.” “You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. Colton. She is a charming girl.” “Thanks. Just among us three I'll admit, in confidence, that I think you're right. And I'll admit, too, that you have a pretty good sort of a son, Mrs. Paine. He is inclined to be,” with a glance in my direction, “a little too stubborn and high-principled for this practical world, but,” with a chuckle, “he can be made to listen to reason, if you give him time enough. That is so, isn't it, Paine?” I did not answer. Mother spoke for me. “I am not sure that I understand you, Mr. Colton,” she said, quietly. “I presume you are referring to the sale of the land. I do not know why Roscoe changed his mind in that matter, but I do know that his reason was a good one, and an honest one.” “He hasn't told it to you, then?” “No. But I know that he thought it right or he never would have sold.” I broke in here. I did not care to hear my own praises. “Did you call to discuss the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton?” I inquired. “I thought that affair settled.” “It is. No, I didn't come to discuss that. Mrs. Paine, I don't know why your son sold me that land, but I'm inclined to think, like you, that he wouldn't have done it unless he thought it was right. I know mighty well he wasn't afraid of me. Oh, you needn't laugh, young man. There ARE people in that fix, plenty of 'em. No, I didn't come to talk 'Lane.' That bird is dead. I came, first of all, to thank you for what you did for my daughter last night.” Mother turned her head and looked at him. “For your daughter? Last night? Roscoe, what does he mean?” “Nothing, Mother, nothing,” I said, hastily. “I was unlucky enough to run the Comfort into Miss Colton's canoe in the bay yesterday afternoon in the fog. Fortunately I got her into the launch and--and--” “And saved her from drowning, then and a dozen times afterward. He hasn't told you, Mrs. Paine? No, I can see that he hasn't. All right, I will. Paine, if your ingrowing modesty won't stand the pressure you had better leave the room. This is about what happened, Mrs. Paine, as Mabel tells it.” I tried to prevent him, but it was no use. He ignored me altogether and went on to tell of the collision in the fog, the voyage across the bay, and my telephone from the lighthouse. The story, as he told it, magnified what he called my coolness and common-sense to a ridiculous extent. I lost patience as I listened. “Mr. Colton,” I interrupted, “this is silly. Mother, the whole affair was more my fault than my good judgment. If I had anchored when it first happened we should have been home in an hour, instead of drifting all night.” “Why didn't you anchor, then?” asked Colton. “Because I--I--”