“Half-past _nine!_” He looked at her in a sort of quick, horrified arraignment. “What do you mean?” His eye fell upon the clock, and conviction seemed to steal upon him against his will. “Heavens and earth, why wasn’t I called? On this morning of all others, when every moment’s of importance! I thought I asked particularly to be waked early.” “I suppose they thought you were tired and needed the rest,” apologized Dosia. “Needed the rest!” His tone was poignant; he looked outraged, but his anger was entirely impersonal—there was in it even a sort of boyish appeal to her, as if she must feel it, too. “You had better sit down and have some breakfast.” “Oh, _breakfast!_” His gesture deprecated her evident intention. “Please don’t. Thank you very much, but I don’t want any breakfast; I only want to get to town.” “There isn’t any train for twenty-five minutes, so you might as well sit down and eat,” said Dosia firmly. “Come out to this little table on the piazza.” She led the way to the screened corner at the end, sweet with the honeysuckle that swung its long loops in the wind, and faced him sternly. “Do you take coffee?” “Please don’t, please don’t cook me anything! I’d hate to trouble you.” He seemed so distressed that she relented a little. “A glass of milk and some fruit, then; you’ll _have_ to take that.” “Very well—if I must. Can’t I get the things myself?” “No.” She ran away to get them for him, with some new joy singing in her heart as she went backward and forward, bringing a pitcher of milk, a glass, a dish of strawberries, some cream, and the sugar, sitting down herself by the table afterwards as he ate and drank. He gave her a sudden smile, so surprised and pleased that the color surged in her cheeks. “I’m not used to this,” he said simply. “What is that dress you have on—silk?” “No, it’s cotton; do you like it?” “_Very_ much. Oh, please don’t get up—Zaidee wasn’t calling you. I won’t eat another mouthful unless you stay just where you are—please!” “Well!” said Dosia, with laughing pleasure. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to consult you about the Alexanders,” he went on, leaning across the table toward her, intimately. “It’s so beautiful to me to see them together that to feel that they’re in trouble distresses me beyond words. You’re so near to them both I thought that perhaps—— Do you know anything about the real state of Mr. Alexander’s affairs?” Dosia shook her head. “No; only that he is very much worried over them.” “He wanted to sell the island; he sent me off on that business lately. He’ll sell it some time, of course, but I don’t know how complicating the delay is. He’s the kind of man you can’t ask; you have to wait until he tells you. You can’t _make_ a person have confidence in you. Won’t you please have some of these strawberries with me? Do!”