“Needs a shave and a hair cut,” she decided.
The boat-house is ready for young Halliday. She has put in it a great deal of love and one or two of my most treasured personal possessions.
“That isn’t by any chance my smoking stand?”
“But you aren’t going to smoke much this summer, Father William,” she says, and tucks a hand into my arm. “I heard you say so yourself.”
It has a sitting room, bedroom and kitchenette, but no bath.
“He can use the sea,” says Edith, easily. “And take a cake of soap in with him.”
“And wash himself ashore,” I suggest, and am frowned down, probably as too old for such ribaldry.
Jane is very serene. Now and then, as she sits on our small verandah with her tapestry, I see her raise her eyes and glance toward the other house, but she does not mention it, nor do I
