“No.” My answer was prompt and sharp enough this time. It was natural, perhaps, that he should presume Dorinda to be my mother, but I did not like it. He paid absolutely no attention to the tone of my reply or its curtness. He did not refer to Dorinda again. She might have been my wife or my great-aunt for all he cared. “This your workshop?” he asked, abruptly. Then, nodding toward the dismembered engine, “What are you? a boat builder?” “No, not exactly.” “What's the price of a boat like that?” indicating the Comfort with a kick in her direction. “About two hundred and fifty dollars, I believe,” I answered. “You believe! Don't you know?” “No. I bought that boat second-hand.” He did not refer to the boat again; apparently forgot it altogether. His next move was to rise and turn toward the door. I watched him, wondering what was going to happen next. He had a habit of jumping from one subject to another which was bewildering. “What's that fellow doing off there?” he asked, suddenly. I looked where he was pointing. “That is Zeb Kendrick,” I answered. “He's raking for quahaugs.” “Raking for what hogs?” “Quahaugs. What you New Yorkers call clams.” “Oh! Sell 'em, does he?” “Yes.” “Tell him to call at my house next time you see him. And for heaven's sake tell him to come to the servants' door. Don't you people down here have any servants' doors to your houses? There have been no less than fifty peddlers on my porch since yesterday and my butler will die of apoplexy if it keeps on. He's a good one, for a wonder, and I don't want to lose him.” I made no reply to this observation and he did not seem to expect any. He watched Zeb rake for a moment and then he turned back to me. “Can you come over to my house now?” he asked. I was not expecting this and again I did not have an answer ready. “Can you?” he went on. “I've got a business deal to make with you and I'd rather make it there. I've got a lot of carpenters and painters at work and they ask me ten questions a minute. They are unnecessary questions but if I don't answer them the fellows are sure to make some fool mistake or other. They need a governess. If you'll come over with me I'll be in touch with them and you and I can talk just as well. Can come, can't you?” I did not know what to say. I wanted to say no, that if he had any business with me it could be discussed in that boathouse. I did not like his manner, yet I had a feeling that it was his usual one and that he had not meant to be rude. And I could think of no good reason for not going with him. “You can come, can't you?” he repeated. “I suppose I can. But--” “Of course if you're too busy to leave--” I remembered the position he had found me in and I rather think I had turned red. He did not smile, but there was a sort of grim twinkle in his eyes. “I'll come,” I said. “Much obliged. I won't keep you long. Come on.”