"Any girl is. He's as hard as nails. He told me Miss Sally is to be married at Round Hill. The Hulburts have rented their own house, and Sally doesn't want a town wedding." He brushed an imaginary crumb off of the table. "I'll bet her mother put her up to being married at Carew's."
Crispin, not much interested, repeatedly idly, "Her mother?"
"Ethel Hulburt. The next thing she'll be marrying Carew."
Crispin, electrified into attention, turned in his chair, "Carew?"
"Yes. The two of them lunched here a lot before they left for Paris. Anyone with half an eye could see how things were going—"
In a flash there came to Crispin a line in Hildegarde's last letter. "I am not seeing quite so much of Daddy. Sally has finished her shopping and plays around with me. And her Mother doesn't care for the things we do. So Aunt Anne goes with us. And that leaves Ethel for Daddy to take care of. He has to be polite—but I sometimes wish he wouldn't."
Did Hildegarde suspect? And was she afraid? Or did her words mean nothing?
When he left the Inn later, the moon was hanging low above the waters. He drove up the hill and got out of his car. The house lay wrapped in stillness. Then from the kennels he heard the yelping of the dogs.
And above him on the porch, a voice: "Is that you, Harlowe?"
It was Meriweather. "I thought nobody else could
