Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-09-14

"Why?'
you're not fit
ooh, yes, am
Besides, you can t."
"Why not?'
"Your aeroplane won't fly. One wing
is broken
She went down the hill, Markham follow
ing. She stood before the broken machine
and looked at it dejectedly.
"Well?' he asked.
"I'm afraid you're right. 1t will have to
be repaired i'll go back by boat
He smiled. "Of course But in the mean
while I'm afraid you'll have to trust to my
hospitality such as it is.
She turned toward him quickly. "You
mean
"The boat, my only means of communi-
cation, won't be here until Thursday"
Her jaw dropped and her blue eyes were
round in dlsrnay. You can't mean 1t!
dts the truth"
"Have you no boats? Does no one come
here from the mainland?'
"No. l arranged that. | came here to
work, and didn't want to be interrupted,
and hastily, "Of course I'm glad to be of
service to you, and if you'll put up with
what can offer
Thanks, she said. al hope it's apparent
to you that I'm not stopping of my own wolf
ton" And then, as though aware of her
discourtesy, she turned toward him, smile
for the first time illuminating the pallor of
her face "I'm afraid there's nothing left
for me then but to accept your kind offer"
When they reached the cabin he brought
out wicker chair and put it in the shade.
"If you II sit here and try to make yourself
comfortable, I'll see what can be done about
breakfast"
CHE thanked him with a smile, sat SUBJ
- missively, and he disappeared indoors,
where she heard him pottering about in the
small kitchen. 1t was very quiet, very rest
full, there under the trees, and an odor of
cooking coffee, eggs, bacon, and toast that
the breeze waited in her direction from the
open window reminded her that the hour of
breakfast was approaching.
The night before, after her guests had
gone to bed, she had sat alone for long
while on the porch that overlooked the bay,
unconsciously surveying with her eye the
water that separated Thimble Island from
the mainland. But it was mad impulse
that had sent her over the sea this morning,
a madden impulse that had sent her to
Thimble Island of all places, upon which she
had descended with an audacity and reck
lessness that surprised even herself.
She realized that she had lied glbly to
Markham about her m1Shap. Her Perr1er
had not missed fire. From the perch of her
lofty reconnaissance she had espied the
painter working at his canvas; but her no
ton of visiting him she knew had not been
born this morning, but last night when she
had sat alone on the terrace and watched the
pale moon wreathing ftfully among the
clouds that lowered uncertainty offshore.
She had come to Thimble Island simply be-
cause impulse had led her here, and because
she was accustomed, with possible reserva-
tons, to follow her impulses wherever they
might lead her. That they had led her to
Markham signifed nothing except that she
found herself more curious about him than
she had supposed herself to be.
Her plans for the morning had provided
for a brief landing while she tinkered with
the machine, scorning his proffers of help;
for snub, if he chose to take advantage of
their slight acquaintance; and for a trium-
plant departure when her pride and her
curiosity had been appeased. Her plans had
not included the miscalculation of distance
and the projecting branch of the tree that
had been her undoing. She found it difficult
to scorn the proffers of help of man who
helped without proffering. 1t was impos
sible to snub a man for taking advantage of
a slight acquaintance when he refused to
remember that such an acquaintance had
ever existed. The triumphant departure
now refused to be triumphant or indeed