r. He isn't that sort. He's simply a grovelling
cad--that's all. Nobody would sympathise much with the poor devil if
his wife did run off with Cunningham."

Meanwhile, Beatrice Longworth walked quickly down the shore road, her
white skirt brushing over the crisp golden grasses by the way. In a
sunny hollow among the sandhills she came upon Stephen Gordon,
sprawled out luxuriously in the warm, sea-smelling grasses. The youth
sprang to his feet at sight of her, and his big brown eyes kindled to
a glow.

Mrs. Longworth smiled to him. They had been great friends all summer.
He was a lanky, overgrown lad of fifteen or sixteen, odd and shy and
dreamy, scarcely possessing a speaking acquaintance with others at the
hotel. But he and Mrs. Longworth had been congenial from their first
meeting. In many ways, he was far older than his years, but there was
a certain inerradicable boyishness about him to which her heart
warmed.

"You are the very person I was just going in search of. I've news to
tell. Sit down."

He spoke eagerly, patting the big gray boulder beside him with his
slim, brown hand. For a moment Beatrice hesitated. She wanted to be
alone just then. But his clever, homely face was so appealing that she
yielded and sat down.

Stephen flung himself down again contentedly in the grasses at her
feet, pillowing his chin in his palms and looking up at her,
adoringly.

"You are so beautiful, dear lady. I love to look at you. Will you tilt
that hat a little more over the left eye-brow? Yes--so--some day I
shall paint you."

His tone and manner were all simplicity.

"When you are a great artist," said Beatrice, indulgently.

He nodded.

"Yes, I mean to be that. I've told you all my dreams, you know. Now
for my news. I'm going away to-morrow. I had a telegram from father
to-day."

He drew the message from his pocket and flourished it up at her.

"I'm to join him in Europe at once. He is in Rome. Think of it--in
Rome! I'm to go on with my art studies there. And I leave to-morrow."

"I'm glad--and I'm sorry--and you know which is which," said Beatrice,
patting the shaggy brown head. "I shall miss you dreadfully, Stephen."

"We _have_ been splendid chums, haven't we?" he said, eagerly.

Suddenly his face changed. He crept nearer to her, and bowed his head
until his lips almost touched the hem of her dress.

"I'm glad you came down to-day," he went on in a low, diffident voice.
"I want to tell you something, and