“Gazing at me with the look of one who had totally lost his reckoning, he shook his head slowly from side to side. I was positively vexed. There came over me the impatient feeling of a teacher who is striving in vain to hammer an idea into the head of a numskull. ‘Well, then,’ said I, with some heat; and throwing out my arm at full length, I pointed across the River. “‘Across the River, too,’ said he, with contracted features. ‘Upon my word, this conundrum grows interesting.’ And with his eyes fixed upon the sand, he stroked his tawny beard. ‘Across the River—let me see—Miss Jenny Royal—dinner-call—no other visit. The Misses Surrey—party-call. Miss Adelaide Temple—breakfast—going to pay my respects to-morrow. Anywhere else? No. Well,’ said he, suddenly throwing up his hands, ‘I give it up! What is the answer?’ “I looked at him for a moment, but could make nothing of him. ‘There! There! There!’ I exclaimed, at last, stabbing at Oakhurst with my forefinger. “‘Where?’ asked he, looking across the River and up and down the shore opposite. “‘There! There!’ “‘You seem to be pointing to Oakhurst.’ “My arm dropped across the gunwale. “‘Oakhurst!’ exclaimed he, with a most natural look of surprise. ‘You don’t mean Oakhurst? Why, there are no guests there! There is no one but Lucy—Miss Lucy!’ “‘That’s true,’ answered I, dryly. ‘No one but Lucy.’ “He leaned forward and scanned my features with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. ‘Surely you have not been alluding to _her_?’ I said nothing. ‘Seriously? Yes?’ And with a shout of merry laughter, he threw back his head with such vigor that his cigar flew out of his mouth and over his shoulder upon the sand; and then, without the least warning, his laughter ended in an abrupt ‘Oh!’ “He rose to his feet; not with a spring, but slowly, slowly, thoughtfully tugging at his moustache, and his eyes intently glaring into vacancy, as he rose and rose, till he seemed to my excited imagination to assume almost colossal proportions. Then he slowly subsided again into his seat, and sat there raking his beard with his long fingers. A chilly sensation crept over me. I tried to speak, but could think of no word wherewith to break the spell of silence. At last he turned his eyes upon mine. “‘So it seems to you that I have been paying Lucy Poythress much attention?’ “‘Seems, Mr. Don? How can you use that word? It is a patent fact that must be as clear to your eyes as to mine.’ “‘Yes, but what kind of attention? She is musical—so am I. I have rowed across the River frequently, to play with her. Nay, my object has not been pleasure alone. I have been giving her what are called, in Paris, accompaniment-lessons. Does that amount to what is called attention, in a technical sense? And you acknowledge yourself that these visits never deceived _you_. You never thought that they were prompted by love.’ “‘No, they did not deceive _me_. What if they have deceived—’ “‘HER!’