Fanny Trehearne fixed her cool grey eyes on his face with a critical expression. 

 "Can you ride?" she asked, pursuing her examination. 

 "Oh, yes—that is—to some extent. I'm not exactly a circus-rider, you know—but I can get on." 

 "Most people can do that. The important thing is not to come off. What can you do—anyway? Are you a good man in a boat? You see I've only met you in society. I've never seen you do anything." 

 "No," answered Lawrence.  "I'm not a good man in a boat, as you call it—except that I'm never sea-sick. I don't know anything about boats, if you mean sail-boats. I can row a little—that's all." 

 "If you could 'row' as you call it, you'd say you could 'pull an oar'—you wouldn't talk about 'rowing.'  Well, get in, and I'll drive." 

 There was not the least scorn in her manner, at his inability to do all those things which are to be done at Bar Harbour if people do anything at all. She had simply ascertained the fact as a measure of safety. It was not easy to guess whether she despised him for his lack of skill or not, but he was inclined to think that she did, and he made up his mind that he would get up very early, and engage a sailor to go out with him and teach him something about boats. The resolution was half unconscious, for he was really thinking more of her than of himself just then. To tell the truth, he did not attach so much importance to any of the things she had mentioned as to feel greatly humiliated by his own ignorance. 

 "After all," said Miss Trehearne, as Lawrence took his seat beside her, "it doesn't matter. And it's far better to be frank, and say at once that you don't know, than to pretend that you do, and then try to steer and drown one, or to drive and then break my neck.  Only one rather wonders where you were brought up, you know." 

 "Oh—I was brought up somehow," answered Lawrence, vaguely.  "I don't exactly remember." 

 "It doesn't matter," returned his companion, in a reassuring tone. 

 "No. If you don't mind, I don't." 

 Fanny Trehearne laughed a little, without looking at him, for she was intent upon what she was doing. It was a part of her nature to fix her attention upon whatever she had in hand—a fact which must account for a certain indifference in what she 

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