Chris. "Well, go on being an artist, please. Draw
something else!"

"I think it is your turn now, mademoiselle," he said.

"Oh, but I'm no good at it," she protested. "I can't compete. You are
much too clever."

He laughed at that and began again.

She seated herself on a rock and watched him, deeply interested.

"How quick you are!" she murmured presently. "Whatever is it, I wonder? A
horse with a man on it! Ah, yes! St. George killing the dragon!
Excellent!" She clapped her hands. "It is a real picture. What a pity for
it to be washed away!"

"The destiny of all things, mademoiselle," he remarked, still elaborating
his work.

"Not all things!" she exclaimed. "Look at the Sphinx, and Cleopatra's
Needle, and--and a host of other things!"

"You think that they will endure for ever?" he said.

"For a very, very long while," she maintained.

"But for ever, mademoiselle?" He turned round to her, quite serious for
once. "There is only one thing that endures for ever," he said.

Chris frowned. "I don't want to think about it. It makes me feel giddy,"
she said. "Please go on drawing. The tide won't be up yet."

He turned back again instantly, looking quizzical. "_Alors_, shall we
build a barrier of stones and arrest the sea?" he suggested.

"Or weave a rope of sand," amended Chris.

CHAPTER IV

THE DIVINE MAGIC

When Chris went bathing it was her custom to slip a mackintosh over her
bathing costume and to run down to the shore thus equipped, discarding
the mackintosh before entering the water and leaving it in the charge of
Cinders.

Cinders never went treasure-hunting on these occasions, but invariably
sat bolt upright, brimful of importance, watching his mistress's
proceedings from afar with eager eyes and quivering nose. He would never
be persuaded to follow her, owing to a rooted objection to wetting his
feet. He was, as a rule, very patient; but if she kept him waiting beyond
the bounds of patience he howled in a heartrending fashion that always
brought her back.

Chris was a good swimmer, and had a boy's healthy love of the sea. Great
was her joy when her injured foot healed sufficiently for her to resume
the morning bathe. Mademoiselle Gautier's pleasure was not so keen, but
then--poor Mademoiselle!--who could expect it? Besides, what could she
know of the exquisite enjoyment of floating on a summer sea with the
summer sun in one's eyes and wave after gentle wave rocking one to drowsy
con