"I can't imagine," repeated Sylvia, still very rosy and flustered, but with her most magnificent air, "what brought you to Wilton—I really cannot."

"Can't you?" grinned Horatio cheerfully.

"No, I cannot."

From his superior height of six-feet-two, he looked down at her meager five feet, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

Sylvia, however, was too intent on patting her curls into place to heed his glance.

"You wrote me to come, didn't you?" he presently inquired.

"I wrote you to come!"

"Well, at least you led me to suppose you'd like it if I were here," persisted Horatio. "Toward the bottom of page two you said: 'I am positively homesick'; and in the middle of the back of page three you wrote: 'It seems years since I've seen you.'"

"What if I did?" answered the girl with a disdainful shrug.

Nevertheless the dimples showed in her cheeks.

"And that isn't all," Horatio went on. "At the end of page five you wrote: 'Would that you were here'!"

Sylvia bit her lip.

"That was only a figure of speech—what is called poetic license. Writers are always would-ing things: Would I were a bird; would I were a ring upon that hand; would I were—were—well, almost anything. But it doesn't mean at all that they would really like to be those things."

"Then you didn't mean it when you said you wished I was here."

Horatio was obviously disappointed.

"Why, of course I am pleased to see you, Hortie. It is very nice of you to come to the Cape to meet my aunt and—"

"Darn your aunt!" he scowled. "I didn't come to see her."

"Hush! She's just inside."

"I don't care."

"But you will when you know her. She's darling."

"I am not interested in aunts."

"Take care! I happen to be very keen on this aunt of mine. If she didn't like you, you might get sent home. Don't be horrid, Hortie. I truly am glad you've come. You must make allowance for my being surprised. I haven't got over it yet. How in the world did you contrive to get away at this season? And what sort of a trip did you have?"

"Swell! I stopped overnight in New York at the Gardeners. Mother wanted me to deliver a birthday cake to Estelle who, you may remember, is the mater's god-daughter. She's a pippin, too. I hadn't seen her since she graduated from Vassar."

Sylvia listened.

She did not need to be told about the Gardeners.

They had visited Horatio's family more than once and rumor had it the elders of both families would be delighted were the young people to make a match of it.

"I'm surprised you did not stay longer in New York," Sylvia observed, gazing reflectively at her white shoe.

"New York wasn't my objective. I came on business, you see."

"Oh!"

This was not so flattering.

"Yes," continued Horatio, "Dad gave me two months off so I could get married."

This time he got the reaction for which he had been waiting.

Sylvia jumped.

"I was not aware you were engaged," murmured she in a formal, far-away tone.

"I'm not," came frankly from Horatio Junior. "But I'm going to be. In fact I chance to have the ring with me this minute. Want to see it?"

"I always enjoy looking at jewels," was her cautious retort.

Horatio felt of his many pockets.

"Where on earth did I put that thing?" he muttered. "Hope I haven't lost it. Oh, here it is."

He took out a tiny velvet case and sprang the catch.

"Oh, Hortie! Isn't it beautiful!" Sylvia cried. "It fairly takes away my breath."

"Like it?"

"It is perfectly lovely!"

"Try it on."

She shook her head.

"It wouldn't fit me. My hands are too small."

"It's a small ring. Here. Put it on," he urged, holding it toward her.

"Well, I suppose I might try it to please you. But I know it will be too large."

She slipped it on her finger.

"Why, it does fit. How odd!"

"Very odd indeed," he answered drily, as she reached her hand out into the sun and turned the diamonds so that they caught the light.

"Looks rather well on, doesn't it?" was his comment.

"It is a beautiful ring."

Horatio, standing behind her, twice extended his arms as if to gather her into them and twice withdrew them, deciding the action to be premature.

At length with a determined squaring of his shoulders, he locked his hands behind him and stood looking on while she continued to twist the ring this way and that.

"Well," yawned he after an interval, "I suppose I may as well put it back in the box."

"Don't you think it would be wiser if I took care of it for you, Hortie?" suggested she demurely. "You are dreadfully careless. Only a moment ago you had no idea where the ring was. If it is on my finger you'll know exactly."

"Bully idea! So I shall! Now tell me where you're off to. You were in a frightful hurry when you burst through that door."

"So I was," agreed Sylvia. "And here I am loitering and almost forgetting my errand. Come! We must hurry. I've got to go to town. Want to row me over?"

"You bet your life!"

"It may be quite a pull. The tide is running out and that means you will have to row against it."

"Show me the boat."

Still she hesitated.

"I don't know how nautical you are."

She thought she heard him chuckle.

Leading the way to the yellow dory, she took her place opposite him and he pushed off.

As they sat facing one another, her eyes roamed over his brown suit; his matching tie, handkerchief and socks; his immaculate linen; his general air of careful grooming, and she could not but admit he wore his clothes well. She was so accustomed to seeing him that she never before had stopped to analyze his appearance. Now after weeks of separation she regarded him from a fresh viewpoint and realized with something of a shock how very good-looking he was.

He had the appearance of being scrubbed inside and out—of being not only clean but wholesome and upstanding; of knowing what he wanted and going after it.

He was not a small town product.

Three years in an eastern preparatory school, followed by four years of college life had knocked all that might have been provincial out of Horatio Junior.

Nevertheless these reflections, interesting though they were, proved nothing about his knowledge of the water.

Then she suddenly became aware that the boat was being guided by a master hand.

"Why, Hortie Fuller, I had no idea you could row like this!" exclaimed she with admiration.

Horatio deigned no response.

"Wherever did you learn to pull such an oar?"

"Varsity Crew."

"Of course. I had forgotten," she apologized, her eyes following as with each splendid stroke the craft shot forward.

Although the oarsman ignored her approbation he was not unmindful of it.

"Where do we land?" he asked.

"Anywhere."

He bent forward and with one final magnificent sweep sent the nose of the dory out of the channel.

"Come on," he called, leaping to the beach.

"But—but, Hortie—I can't get ashore here. I'll wet my white shoes."

"Jump."

"It's too far. Pull the boat higher on the sand."

"Not on your life. Jump, darling! I'll catch you."

She stood up in the bow.

"I can't. It's too far."

"Nonsense! Where's your sporting blood? Don't be afraid. I'm right here."

"Suppose you shouldn't catch me?"

"But I shall."

He would. She was certain of it.

Still she wavered.

"I don't want to jump," she pouted.

"You'll have to. Come on, Beautiful. You're wasting time."

"I think you are perfectly horrid," she flung out as she sprang forward.

An instant later she was in his arms and tight in a grip she knew herself powerless to loosen.

"Let me go, Hortie! Let me go!" she pleaded.

"I shall, sweetheart. All in good time. Before I set you free, though, we must settle one trivial point. Are we engaged or are we not?"

She made no answer.

"If we're not," he went on, "I intend to duck you in the water. If we are, you shall tell me you love me and go free."

"Don't be idiotic, Hortie. Please, please let me go. Somebody may come along and see us."

"I don't mind if they do. There are other considerations more important."

A swift, shy smile illuminated her face.

"I—I—don't want to be ducked, Hortie," she murmured, raising her arms to his neck.

"You precious thing! You shan't be. Now the rest of it. Say you love me."

"I guess you know that."

"But I wish to hear you say it."

"I—I—think I do."

"That's a half-hearted statement."

"I—I—know I do, Hortie."

"Ah, that is better. And I love you, Sylvia. Loving you is an old, old story with me—a sort of habit. I shall never change. You are too much a part of me, Sylvia. Now pay the boatman and you shall go. One is too cheap. Two is miserly. The fare is three. I won't take less."

"I consider your methods despicable," announced the girl when at last he reluctantly put her down on her feet.

"A warrior must study his adversary and plan his attack accordingly."

"You blackmailed me."

"I know my Sylvia," he countered.

"Just the same you had no right to take advantage."

"Perhaps you'd rather I trundled back to New York tomorrow and offered the ring to Estelle."

"Silly! I was only fooling," she protested quickly, linking her arm in his. "This ring would never fit Estelle, dearest. Her hands are tremendous. Didn't you ever notice them? They are almost as large as a man's. I never saw such hands."

"She's an awful nice girl just the same."

"I don't doubt that. Come. We must quit fooling now and hurry or we shall never get home. Marcia will be frantic."

"Marcia?"

"My aunt. I have so much to tell you I hardly know where to begin," sighed Sylvia. "Do listen carefully, for I need your advice."

"What about?"

"A lot of things. It is a long story. You see Marcia has fallen in love with a robber."

"A robber? Your aunt?"

"Uh-huh. I know it sounds odd, but you will understand it better after you have heard the details," nodded Sylvia. "This man, a jewel thief, came to our house one day shipwrecked and hurt, so we took him in."

"A thief?"

Again she nodded.

"Yes. We didn't know then, of course, that he was a thief. Afterward, when we did, he was sick and we hadn't the heart to turn him out. In fact we couldn't have done it anyway. He was too fascinating. He was one of the most fascinating men you ever saw."

"He must have been," Horatio growled.

"Oh, he was. I myself almost lost my heart to him," confessed Sylvia earnestly. "Don't jeer. I am speaking the truth. I did not quite fall in love with him, but I came near it. Marcia did."

"Your aunt?"

"Yes. Don't look so horrified, Hortie. I realize it seems queer, unconventional; but you'll understand better when you see Marcia. She is no ordinary person."

"I shouldn't think she was."

Sylvia ignored the comment.

"Well, anyway, the robber hid the loot and of course Marcia and I did all we could to protect him."

"Why of course?"

"I just told you—because he was so fascinating—because Marcia did not or would not believe he had stolen it. I knew better. Still I helped shield him just the same. Then one day the Wilton sheriff heard over the radio there had been a jewel robbery on Long Island, and stumbling upon the hidden gems, arrested Mr. Heath."

"Mr. Heath?"

"The thief, Hortie! The thief! How can you be so stupid?" ejaculated Sylvia sharply, squeezing his arm.

"I get you now. You must admit, though, this is some story to understand."

"I know it sounds confused, but in reality it is perfectly simple if you'll just pay attention. Well," the girl hurried on, "I cannot stop to explain all the twists and turns but anyway, the sheriff brought the burglar to Wilton and Marcia is broken-hearted."

"Broken-hearted! I should think she'd be thankful to be rid of him."

"But you keep forgetting she's in love with him."

"Well, do you wonder I do? What kind of a woman is your aunt? What sort of a gang have you got in with anyhow?"

"Hush, Hortie! You mustn't talk like that," Sylvia declared. "This affair is too serious. Marcia and the—the—she and Mr. Heath love one another. It is terrible because, you see, he has a wife."

"I should call that a stroke of Providence, myself."

"Horatio, I think you are being very nasty. You are joking about something that is no joking matter."

"I beg your pardon, dear. I wasn't really joking. Don't be angry. But this yarn is unbelievable—preposterous," explained the man, taking her hand and gently caressing it.

"I realize it sounds—unusual."

"Unusual is mild."

"Well—perhaps a little theatrical. Yet, for all that, it isn't. Now do stop interrupting and let me finish. When Mr. Heath went away from the Homestead, he left behind him a hundred dollars in payment for what Marcia had done for him. It almost killed her."

"She—she—thought she ought to have had more, you mean?"

"Horatio!"

"But—a hundred dollars is quite a sum in these days. She would better have grabbed it tight and been thankful. My respect for this bandit chap is rising. I should call him an honest gentleman."

"It is useless to talk with you, Horatio—I can see that," Sylvia said, stiffening. "A delicate affair like this is evidently beyond your comprehension. You can't seem to understand it. All you do is to make light of every word I say."

"I'm not making light. On the contrary I guess I am taking the situation far more seriously than you are. I don't like the moral tone of this place at all. It looks to me as if you had got into most undesirable surroundings. It is high time I came and took you out of them. Thieves, and jewel-robberies, and sheriffs, and bandits with wives—Heavens! Alton City is a Garden of Eden compared with this town. The sooner you are married to me, young woman, and out of here the better. As for this remarkable aunt of yours—"

"Stop, Horatio! Stop right where you are," bridled Sylvia. "One more word against Marcia and back home you go so fast you won't be able to see for dust. I'm in earnest, so watch your step."

"The woman has bewitched you," frowned Horatio.

"She has. She bewitches everybody. She'll bewitch you."

"Not on your life!"

"Wait and see. Mr. Heath will bewitch you, too."

"The—the—?"

"Yes, the burglar, bandit, thief—whatever you choose to call him. You'll admit it when you meet him. We are going there now."

"To—to—call?"

"To return the check I just told you about. You're the stupidest man I was ever engaged to, Horatio. Why can't you listen?"

"I am listening with all my ears."

"Then the trouble is with your imagination," Sylvia said in her loftiest tone.

They walked on in silence until presently the girl stopped before the gate of a small, weather-beaten cottage.

"Well, here we are at Elisha's," she remarked, turning in at the gate.

"What's he got to do with it?"

"Mercy, Hortie. You'll wear me to a shred. Elisha is the sheriff. I'm going to coax him to let us see the prisoner."

"You don't mean the chap is jailed here! My—!" he clapped his hand over his mouth. "Why, any red-blooded man could knock the whole house flat to the ground with a single blow of his fist. I'll bet I could."

"There wasn't any other place to put him."

"Well, if he stays incarcerated in a detention pen like this, he's a noble-minded convict—that's all I have to say."

They walked up the narrow clam-shell path, bordered by iris and thrifty perennials.

As they did so, the sound of a radio drifted through the open window.

Sylvia peeped in.

Elisha, too intent on the music to hear her step, was sitting before the loud speaker, smoking.

"I've come to see Mr. Heath," she shouted above the wails of a crooning orchestra.

"You can't. 'Tain't allowed."

"Nonsense! Prisoners are always permitted to see visitors. Where is he?"

"I ain't sure as I'd oughter let you see him," hesitated Elisha.

"I'll take the responsibility."

"Wal—mebbe on second thought, 'twill do no harm," he drawled. "He's round on the back porch. I'd come with you warn't I waitin' for the news flashes."

"That's all right. I can find him."

"Say, who you got with you?" called the sheriff over his shoulder.

"A friend from my home town."

"Don't know 'bout his goin'."

"Oh, he won't do any harm. He's nobody—just my fiancÉ."

"Your what?"

"The man I am going to marry."

"You don't tell me! So you're gettin' married, are you? Good lookin' feller! I heard at the post office you had some chap in the offin'. But to let him see Mr. Heath—I dunno as 'twould be just—"

"Where I go Horatio goes," Sylvia retorted.

Elisha weakened.

"Wal, in that case—" he began.

She waited to hear no more.

"Come on, Hortie," she called.

Leaving Elisha absorbed in a saxophone solo, the two rounded the corner of the cottage and found themselves in the presence of Stanley Heath.