“Not too hot, you know,” said Anne anxiously. Oh, was it really wise to go?
“Do not you fret, Mrs. Doctor, dear. Susan is not the woman to burn a wee man. Bless him, he has no notion of crying.”
Anne tore herself away finally and enjoyed her walk to the Point after all, through the long shadows of the sun-setting. Captain Jim was not in the living room of the lighthouse, but another man was—a handsome, middle-aged man, with a strong, clean-shaven chin, who was unknown to Anne. Nevertheless, when she sat down, he began to talk to her with all the assurance of an old acquaintance. There was nothing amiss in what he said or the way he said it, but Anne rather resented such a cool taking-for-granted in a complete stranger. Her replies were frosty, and as few as decency required. Nothing daunted, her companion talked on for several minutes, then excused himself and went away. Anne could have sworn there was a twinkle in his eye and it annoyed her. Who was the creature? There was something vaguely familiar about him but she was certain she had never seen him before.
“Captain Jim, who was that who just went out?” she asked, as Captain Jim came in.
“Marshall Elliott,” answered the captain.
“Marshall Elliott!” cried Anne. “Oh, Captain Jim—it wasn’t—yes, it was his voice—oh, Captain Jim, I didn’t know him—and I was quite insulting to him!
