Approaching closer, he saw that she was trembling and that her breath was coming in rapid, irregular gasps. Yet the slim, sweet, patrician face that stared into his had an underlying expression of expectancy that reminded him of the cove. She couldn't have been more than eighteen. He stopped short of the table. Before he could speak, she stammered out, "Are you he?" "What do you mean?" he asked, smiling puzzledly. "The one who sends me the little boxes." "I was out sailing and I happened to land in the far cove. I didn't dream that anyone lived on this island, or even came here." "No one ever does come here," she replied. Her manner had changed, becoming at once more wary and less agitated, though still eerily curious. "It startled me tremendously to find this place," he blundered on. "Especially the road and the car. Why, this island can't be more than a quarter of a mile wide." "The road goes down to the wharf," she explained, "and up to the top of the island, where my aunts have a tree-house." He tore his mind away from the picture of a woman dressed like Queen Mary clambering up a tree. "Was that your aunt I saw driving off?" "One of them. The other's taken the motorboat in for supplies." She looked at him doubtfully. "I'm not sure they'll like it if they find someone here." "There are just the three of you?" he cut in quickly, looking down the empty road that vanished among the oaks. She nodded. "I suppose you go in to the mainland with your aunts quite often?" She shook her head. "It must get pretty dull for you." "Not very," she said, smiling. "My aunts bring me the papers and other things. Even movies. We've got a projector. My favorite stars are Antonio Morino and Alice Terry. I like her better even than Clara Bow." He looked at her hard for a moment. "I suppose you read a lot?" She nodded. "Fitzgerald's my favorite author." She started around the table, hesitated, suddenly grew shy. "Would you like some lemonade?" * * * * * He'd noticed the dewed silver pitcher, but only now realized his thirst. Yet when she handed him a glass, he held it untasted and said awkwardly, "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Jack Barry." She stared at his outstretched right hand, slowly extended her own toward it, shook it up and down exactly once, then quickly dropped it. He chuckled and gulped some lemonade. "I'm a biology student. Been working at Wood's Hole the first part of the summer. But now I'm here to do research in marine ecology--that's sort of sea-life patterns--of the in-shore islands. Under the direction of Professor Kesserich. You know about him, of course?" She shook her head.