"I'm afraid that's all I can offer in the way of burglary inducements."
"That bein' the case, s'pose you an' me start gettin' the patient upstairs, 'Lish," broke in Doctor Stetson. "If we don't, next we know he'll be havin' pneumonia as well as a bad wrist. Besides, I want to get a good look at that wrist. Mebbe 'tain't goin' to be bad as it 'pears."
The stranger's admiring glance fixed itself on Marcia's.
"I told you before--you must take off your wet things and rest," she repeated.
"Very well. I am ready, gentlemen." Erect, even with a hint of defiance in his mocking smile, the man rose to his full height. "Before we go, however, I must correct a slight error. You misunderstood my name. It is not Carlton. It is Heath--Stanley Heath."
"And yet you told me, Marcia, this was a quiet, adventureless place!" burst out Sylvia, the instant the door had closed.
"It doesn't seem so to me. When shipwrecked mariners fall into your arms entirely without warning, I call it thrilling. Who do you suppose he is?"
"Of course--Heath. Stanley Heath. It's quite a romantic name, too. But I didn't mean that. I mean where did he come from and why? Didn't he tell you?"
"I thought perhaps he might have while I was upstairs. I was gone long enough for him to pour out to you his entire history. At least it seemed so to me. I ransacked every closet and drawer in sight trying to find something for him to put on. It wasn't until I struck that old sea-chest in the hall that I discovered pajamas and underwear. I hope you don't mind my taking them."
"No. They were Jason's. I ought to have told you they were there. I kept them because I thought they might sometime be useful."
"Well, they certainly are," replied Sylvia. "They will exactly fit Mr. Heath. He must be lots like Uncle Jason."
"He isn't," contradicted Marcia sharply. "He isn't at all like him."
"In size, I mean," amended Sylvia, timidly.
"Oh, in size. Possibly. I haven't thought about it," came tersely from Marcia. "Let me see! We planned to have lobster this noon, didn't we? But that won't do for him. He will need something more substantial."
"There are chops," suggested Sylvia, following to the door.
"So there are!" Marcia brightened. "I'd forgotten that. We have had such a confusing morning--" absently she reached for the plates.