yes," she said. "And his cousin, Tom Wynne, he was master of all he surveyed, if you'll pardon a small joke. In Africa or South America he would have owned millions of acres, just using the same energy he expended in Eastern Pennsylvania. Your brother has that energy and look what he's doing in California. And Mexico. In other words, Tina, it's in your blood. You get it from both sides of the family." "Get what?" "The thing that I lack and that your Uncle Pen lacked. A large-scale ambition. It skipped our generation, but I can see it in your brother, and even though you may not have it for yourself, you may pass it on to your children." "You've made money," she said. "We've made a lot of money, but do you know how I'm going to make the most I ever made? In a five-cent candy bar. I don't consider that conquest, or large-scale ambition. I consider it a five-cent candy bar accomplishment. Your brother in his short life has already eclipsed me. He digs oil wells in the ocean. He plays poker with the big shots. I'm a small man, with small dreams, and I never knew it till just lately. I'm very glad you broke off with your trackwalker." "But he had great ambitions," she said. "He thinks he has. But from what little you've told me about him, he sounds too much like me." "Why, Father, you're positively occult. He was a lot like you. How did you know that?" "I'd have to tell you a lot more about myself than I'm ready to tell you," he said. "Suffice it to say, I recognized him. He was me. Not even a first-rate scoundrel." "He could still be a first-rate scoundrel. So could you, I guess." "No. Your fellow and I will never be first-rate scoundrels. The genuine, first-rate scoundrel doesn't care what people think. He does, and so do I. We can do wicked things, but we don't want to be found out. My father was closer to the real thing than I am." "Is Bing a scoundrel?" "Oh, you caught me off my guard," he said. "I wasn't ready for that one." "Is he?" "The fact that you're putting it in the form of a question, instead of stoutly declaring that your brother isn't a scoundrel - that's interesting. Are you a little worried about him?" "His letters are more revealing than he must realize," she said. "I write postcards. They come in envelopes, but I do my best to say as little as possible. What worries you about him?" "I guess it's the same things you've been saying. Expressed differently, of course. But things about ambition. And you, and Uncle Pen. The Lockwood family history." "What does he say about himself?" "Intentionally, or unintentionally?" "Either. What does he say that has you worried?" "It isn't exactly worried, Father," she said. "There's nothing to worry about so far. At least I don't think there is. Oh, what am I talking about? I am worried. He's gotten tough." "Well, that's understandable. They rather pride themselves on their toughness, oil men. I went to school with a boy whose family made their money in lace. Cheap, machine-made lace. But it was still lace. He was the dirtiest, most vulgar, toughest boy in school. I wonder what happened to him when he went into the family business." "You think Bing's toughness may be due to the kind of work he's in? I don't. I don't think you do, either." "No, I guess I don't," he said. "The only other explanation is that I made him tough, and of course I don't like to admit that." "I'm glad you did, though. You had something to do with it." "Of course I did," he said. "But if all you're worried about is his toughness, stop worrying. He's going to need it. Without it he'd get nowhere, and then you'd really have something to worry about. Your brother isn't so tough that he could stand failure. In fact, you might as well know this, Tina. Your brother is a weakling." "Have you got any particular reason for saying that?" she said. "Or is that just a general observation?" "Both," said her father. "You wouldn't care to tell me what the particular reason was?" "No, I would not." "Is he crooked?" she said. "I doubt it. I'm sure he's not. The kind of men - the kind of big shots he plays poker with - wouldn't play poker with him if he was crooked. They might do business with him, but they wouldn't play poker with him. They wouldn't go to his house, or have him at theirs. No, he's not crooked." "Then I know the other weakness," she said. "Women." "You seem positive of that." "I am. I just wondered how you found out. It only started after he got married, and you haven't seen him since then." "How did you become so positive?" he said. "You've seen very little of him." "Yes, but he talks to me. And writes to me. What happens to men, Father? Rita's a nice girl, an attractive girl. Actually a superior person to Bing. But almost as soon as they got married he went on the make." "I suppose that means what I think it means," he said. "It does. He has affairs." "Does his wife know about them?" "I don't know. I've only seen her twice, and she isn't the kind of girl you get close to right away. She's very much in love with him, and he could probably fool her for a while. He has so much vitality, always on the go. She could be deceived by that." "And doesn't see what she doesn't want to see, as is often the case," he said. "Yes. But I'm not at all sure that he'd be as tolerant. And Rita is some dish, don't make any mistake about that." "I don't. I've seen pictures of her." "Of course I may be all wrong about her, now. It's nearly two years since I've seen her. Her patience may have been exhausted." "No, I'm sure it hasn't been. And another thing I'm sure of, is that your brother is still in love with her." "I hope so," she said. "You're not telling all you know." "No," he said. "But then I never have. I'm secretive by nature." "I'll say you are," she said. "You've opened up more tonight than ever before in my whole, entire life." "Beginning with the skin of my hand. Shall we go back? I think we've had enough fresh air." "But I'm glad we can talk this way," she said. "Why can we, when we never have before?" "I guess we can thank your trackwalker for that," he said. "And your Uncle Pen. And whatever's been happening inside me lately." They were headed toward the house and the driveway at this point was at its steepest. They consequently walked slowly. "I'm glad I brought an alpenstock," she said. "We ought to walk more. We're losing the use of our legs," he said. "We ought to walk more and talk more," she said. "I wish you'd stay around a while," he said. "You don't have to. The money can be deposited to your account at Morgan, Harjes. A few papers to sign." "What money? Oh - Uncle Pen's," she said. "I'll stay on for a while, and when Geraldine and I get on each other's nerves I can always go to New York." She had no car of her own, and he let her use his Packard. She could come and go as she pleased, and George was surprised to see that she invited Geraldine to accompany her on shopping trips to Philadelphia, to the hairdresser in Gibbsville. He attributed this change in their relationship to the major change in Tina herself: his daughter was a woman now, and his wife treated her as one. It was very perceptive of Geraldine - or not perceptive at all but a woman-to-woman instinct. He made no comment and asked no questions, and he could not guess what they talked about; but obviously they enjoyed the improvement in their relationship. Temporarily, Geraldine had a companion for whose companionship she was grateful; and Tina at this stage of her life found at least a limited compatibility with an older woman that no young woman could supply. Tina had jumped into womanhood, as it were, and she was seeing what it was like. On these terms Tina's visit was prolonged indefinitely. No understanding was reached as to the permanence of her stay; rather it continued to be regarded as a visit. She declined, for instance, her father's offer to buy her a car. "If I can't use yours, I can always drive the Pierce." "Pretty heavy for a girl," said George. "Oh, you should have seen the Renault we had in France. As big as a Mack truck and looked like one, with that radiator," she said. "No, thanks, Father. If you bought me a car you might be stuck with it. I might take a sudden notion to leave the day it arrived." "And you don't want to feel tied down," he said. "A car wouldn't be enough to tie me down," she said. Thus a month passed. The weather became a factor in her stay. The word had got around that she was remaining at home, and she was sought after by girls and young men who respected her tennis game. When on her game she could beat any of her Gibbsville contemporaries; she had played a lot with her brother, who had twice won the county singles championship. She had no intimates among the girls she grew up with, but now they reentered her life by way of the country club tennis courts. It was a warm spring, and she could have played every day if she had been willing to engage herself with the tennis-playing set. But she kept them at a certain distance, and she thereby inadvertently revealed to her father that her prolonged visit was something of a rest cure. She came home from the country club one day while he was having lunch alone on the terrace. "I think I'll have exactly what you're having," she said. "You always play in the morning, and never stay there for lunch," he said. "I don't always play in the morning, but I make sure that I'm not around there when the drinking starts. I want to play tennis, and not get mixed up in the social side. The social side is cocktails and gossip. To hell with that. If I rush to the defense of Julian English, they think I never got over my crush on him. And good heavens, those same people must have had a field day with Uncle Pen. Think what they'd say if they knew I'd been jilted by a married man." "I didn't realize you were jilted," said her father. "That's how it would seem to them. No, I enjoy the exercise, but otherwise I prefer to vegetate. You aren't the only one that's been under a strain, Father. Funnily enough, I thought being here would be a strain, but it hasn't turned out that way. I'm down to ten cigarettes a day, and I sleep like an innocent babe. Of which I'm neither. I'll soon be sufficiently recovered to try my luck again." "Try your luck at what?" "That was an odd thing to say, wasn't it?" "It may have been very revealing," he said. "To me, as well as to you," she said, and lit a cigarette. "Fourth today." "Geraldine and I hadn't decided what to do this summer, and then when your Uncle Pen died we never seemed to get around to it again. Have you any ideas on the subject?" "No," she said. "I don't want to be too far away from New York," he said. "This is going to be a busy summer for me. Uncle Pen's estate, and my candy company, in addition to my usual dabblings and so on. In other words, we can't go abroad. Also, we have to face the fact that we've been touched by scandal, and therefore we'll do well to stay away from the so-called fashionable resorts. There's a place on Cape Cod-" "Why don't you stay here? This house is cool, quite high up. Plenty of trees. Swimming pool. Tennis court. What more do you want?" "Geraldine would really like to get away for a while. And she's entitled to that. Pen was my brother, not hers, but she fell heir to some of the unpleasantness. As a matter of fact, Tina, I've all but signed up for a cottage on the Cape. Nothing very elaborate, and not in any town." "Have you seen it?" she said. "Photographs of it. The house is fairly old. Grey shingles. A small boat goes with it. A clay tennis court. A putting green for anyone who may be addicted to clock golf. And a small stretch of beach for ocean bathing. Very expensive, I might add. But we wouldn't have to join a club." "It sounds ideal. What's the hitch? Why hasn't it been rented?" "It's owned by a Boston couple, who'd rather not lease it at all then have it rented by a family with children. Small children, of course. They don't object to daughters of advanced years. I'd be delighted if you'd say you'll come. It would make all the difference in the world to Geraldine." "How did you hear about this place?" "Through an agency," he said. "It's always wise to do things like that through an agency. Our law firm gets in touch with their correspondent law firm in Boston, and the Boston people recommend a real estate agency. All done in very orderly fashion. Everybody knows who everybody else is, but the principals - in this case, me and the owner - never have to meet, unless there's some reason to. The owner, for instance, knows all be needs to know about me. My credit. My social standing, such as it is. Clubs I belong to. I had an interesting correspondence with the real estate agency. Would you like to take a look at it?" "Not particularly," she said. "Well, it is on the dull side, except as an example of the negotiations I just described. What I care about now is, will you come? Would you try it for the month of July? If you get bored, you can pack up and leave. My offer of a car still stands, by the way. As a matter of fact, if and when we get there I'm going to buy one of those Ford station wagons." "Oh, I love them. With the curtains on the side, and those tiny little doors in the back?" "I'll buy it there so that the local dealer will make a little profit. Good will, of the sort those Yankees understand." "You've thought this out pretty thoroughly," she said. "I always do, don't I?" "Yes, but I never cease to wonder at how thoroughly," she said. "It'll be quiet, just like this?" "That's the whole point," he said. "Then I'll come for July. As for staying all summer, I can't say now," she said. "Done and done. I'll sign the lease and mail them a cheque today," said her father. "Geraldine will be terribly pleased." It had worked out beautifully, as things were likely to do with careful planning. His offer to show Tina the real estate correspondence was intended to allay any remote suspicion she might have - as to any remote suspicion she might have. She was sharp. But then she could not have known - only guessed wildly - how very carefully he had been planning, or why. Basically, he had decided that he wanted her to marry Preston Hibbard. His plans and his planning proceeded from there. He recalled that Hibbard had made a passing reference to Maine as the place where he spent his summers. Cape Cod therefore fitted in perfectly; far enough away from Maine to allay any suspicion Hibbard might have that he was being pursued (and Hibbard would have such suspicions), and yet only a brief motor trip from Boston. Sometime in July, and preferably not on a weekend, Hibbard would be invited to come to the Cape for an informal discussion of the terms of Pen Lockwood's bequests to St. Bartholomew's and Princeton. George Lockwood was not an executor of Pen's estate, but he was better acquainted than anyone else with the details of Pen's securities and other investments. He anticipated several, if not