It was like an Old Home Week, Mary Vanton declared, when the three of
them were all together on the ocean shore in front of the beach house.
Dick had come down with the promise to stay a week and was living at
the Coast Guard Station with Tommy. At least he was sleeping there and
so, formally, Tommy’s guest. Actually he was Mary’s guest and all his
hours were spent at her house or on the bay with her and the children,
or in the surf with the children. Except for breakfast, which he and
Tommy got for themselves, he ate at the Vantons’. Tommy, too, contrived
to spend a good deal of time at the Vantons’ and to take rather better
than half his meals there that week. Although as Keeper he remained
technically on duty at the Coast Guard Station through the summer
months, there was actually little for him to do.
“It’s rather hard on the visitors,” he explained to Mary about his
absences, “who come over in droves, mornings and afternoons, but even
if I were there I couldn’t demonstrate the use of the apparatus myself
without the aid of any of my crew.”
The three sat regarding the ocean in which the four children were
frolicking. The two boys could both swim, but were wisely not
attempting to do more than duck in and out of the breakers.
“I think I shall stay here all winter,” Mary Vanton said, suddenly.
The men looked at her, but neither spoke.
“I have always loved the beach,” she went on, after a little
hesitation. “I have always thought I should like to live here. We
shall be comfortable and I think it will be good for the children.”
She spoke in a matter-of-fact way. Tommy Lupton wondered if she was
setting herself a vigil of watching and waiting against the possibility
and improbability of her husband’s return. Richard Hand also thought
of this, but decided--he could hardly have said why--that there was
something she wanted to think out, some plan she wanted to arrive at
respecting herself and the children. Here, in a comparative isolation,
she could work it out for herself. It seemed more in her character,
somehow.