Leaving the shore of the bay, St. John Ruthven walked slowly toward the home of his aunt.

It irritated him greatly to think that his cousin preferred the society of Jack¹ to his own.

"I must speak to Aunt Alice about this," he said to himself. "It is getting worse and worse."

He found his aunt sitting in the garden reading. She looked up in surprise at his approach.

"Aunt Alice, can you spare me a few minutes?" he said, after the usual greeting.

"Surely, St. John. What is it that you wish?"

"I wish to speak to you about Marion."

"About Marion?" Mrs. Ruthven looked somewhat surprised.

"Yes. I saw her out again in a boat with that boy."

"That boy? Do you mean Jack?"

"Yes. I wonder you trust her to his care—after what happened at the wreck²."

"Why should I not? Jack understands how to manage a boat. Marion is safe with her brother."

"But he is not her brother," cried St. John.

"Not in blood, perhaps, but in affection. They have been brought up together as children of one family."

"My dear Aunt Alice, do you think you have done wisely in encouraging this intimacy³?" he said earnestly.

"What can you mean?" she demanded. "Jack is fourteen years old and Marion is eighteen."

"Of course. But you know nothing of the boy's parentage. He is an unknown waif, cast upon the shore in his infancy⁴, very possibly of a low family."

"No, you are wrong there. Remember, I saw his mother. Everything indicated her to be a lady. The child's clothing was of fine texture⁵. But even if it were otherwise, he has endeared himself to me by his noble qualities. I regard him as a son."

St. John shrugged⁶ his shoulders. "You look upon him with the eyes of affection. To me he seems——"

"Well?"

分享到：