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Dan blushed depreciatingly as he placed a bowl of flowers on the center of the table. "Would you like me to set the table here, Miss Muffet or would you prefer to have luncheon in the pergola?" he enquired.

Dans manner was unrestrainedly effeminate and Katharine was ill at ease. Dan went back & forth with the plates and silver-ware as he served an exceedingly good luncheon, and Katharine and I fumbled for communication in this new situation. Late in the afternoon we walked slowly along the high dark cedar hedge toward my car. It had turned suddenly cold as it does on fall summer afternoons in eastern Maine and with the chill came the powerful inexorable dusk. Dan had disappeared on some errand, and the house waited, unlighted, at the end of the cedar avenue. "What are you writing darling?" "The story of my transformations. Perhaps I could show it to you, some day." We met frequently at days in Penobscot, which was about mid way between Castine and Blue Hill. Katharine managed to drive over in the old roadster