He had been there for nearly three weeks now, and he seemed to have every intention of remaining. He was an artist, and the sketches he made were numerous and--like himself--full of decision. He came and went among the fishermen's little thatched cottages, selecting here, refusing there, exactly according to fancy. They had been inclined to resent his presence at first--it was certainly no charitable impulse that moved Adam to call him "the curly-topped chap"--but now they were getting used to him. For there was no gainsaying the fact that he had a way with him, at least so far as the women-folk of the community were concerned. He could keep Mrs. Peck chuckling for an hour at a time in the evening, when the day's work was over. And Columbine--Columbine had a trill of laughter in her voice whenever she spoke to him. He liked to hear her play the guitar and sing soft songs in the twilight. Adam liked it too. He was wont to say that it reminded him of a young blackbird learning to sing. For Columbine was as yet very shy of her own talent. She kept in the shallows, as it were, in dread of what the deep might hold. Knight was very kind to her, but he was never extravagant in his praise. He was quite unlike any other man of her acquaintance. His touch was always so sure. He never sought her out, though he was invariably quite pleased to see her. The dainty barrier of pride that fenced her round did not exist for him. She did not need to keep him at a distance. He could be intimate without being familiar. And intimate he had become. There was no disputing it. From the first, with his easy _savoir-faire_, he had waived ceremony, till at length there was no ceremony left between them. He treated her like a lady. What more could the most exacting demand? And yet Adam continued to call him "the curly-topped chap," and turned him over to his son Rufus when he requested permission to go out in his boat. And Rufus--Rufus turned with a gesture of disgust after the utterance of his half-veiled threat, and spat with savage emphasis upon the sand. Adam uttered a chuckle that was not wholly unsympathetic, and began deftly to coil the now disentangled rope. "Do you know what I'd do--if I was in your place?" he said. Rufus made a sound that was strictly noncommittal. Adam's quick eyes flung him a birdlike glance. "Why don't you come along to The Ship and smoke a pipe with your old father of an evening?" he said. "Once a week's not enough, not, that is, if you--" He broke off suddenly, caught by a whistle that could not be resisted. Rufus was regarding the horizon with those brooding eyes of vivid blue. Abruptly Adam ceased to whistle. "When I was a young chap," he said, "I didn't keep my courting for Sundays only. I didn't dress up, mind you. That weren't my way. But I'd go along in my jersey and invite her out for a bit of a cruise in the old boat. They likes a cruise, Rufus. You try it, my boy! You try it!"