Page:The Star in the Window.pdf/226

216 Oh, the sailor! The sailor! The sailor was the only dram of bitter in Reba's overflowing cup of intoxicating sweet. But after a while she became used to the bitter, just as when a child she became used to the bitter of choke-cherries after eating the first dozen, observing finally only the rare flavor.

The "Ellen T. Robinson" might have been lost in a storm by this time, for all Reba knew. When she had spent that Sunday with Katherine it had been weeks, months, since one of the spasmodic letters had arrived to remind her of "Number Four's" existence. Even the link that the residence in the Back Bay had been between her and the strange man of the sea had disappeared, for the house had been sold two years ago.

Mr. Barton had never returned to it, or permanently anyhow. A call had been given him by a church in San Francisco, whither the "Ellen T. Robinson" had borne him, and where he had remained afterward for a month or so. Reba had read of his acceptance of this call in the newspapers, and that Mrs. Barton was going to join her son in his new field of activity. There remained, therefore, little to remind Reba of her marriage—little to make her fear discovery; and though often she was sunk in deepest reflection because of it, over and over again she told herself that there was nothing in her new friendship that need disturb her. She and Dr. Booth were just friends, companions, after all. Even Dr. Booth emphasized that.

"We're both of us miserable, city-bound wretches this summer. Why not play together these hot nights, instead of each of us sitting miserably under an electric-light-bulb somewhere, and trying to kill time till a