in your own room. I watched you until you put out
the blue lamp and lit the red one. I tell you this--because--because--I
thought you might be reading a manuscript I sent you. At least," he
smiled faintly, "I LIKED to think it so."

In her present mood this struck her only as persistent and somewhat
egotistical. But she felt herself now on ground where she could deal
firmly with him.

"Oh, yes," she said gravely. "I got it and thank you very much for it. I
intended to write to you."

"Don't," he said, looking at her fixedly. "I can see you don't like it."

"On the contrary," she said promptly, "I think it beautifully written,
and very ingenious in plot and situation. Of course it isn't the story I
told you--I didn't expect that, for I'm not a genius. The man is not at
all like my cousin, you know, and the woman--well really, to tell the
truth, SHE is simply inconceivable!"

"You think so?" he said gravely. He had been gazing abstractedly at some
shining brown seaweed in the water, and when he raised his eyes to hers
they seemed to have caught its color.

"Think so? I'm positive! There's no such a woman; she isn't HUMAN. But
let us walk to the hotel."

"Thank you, but I must go back now."

"But at least let my brother thank you for taking his place--in rescuing
me. It was so thoughtful in you to put off at once when you saw I was
surrounded. I might have been in great danger."

"Please don't make fun of me, Mrs. Ashwood," he said with a faint
return of his boyish smile. "You know there was no danger. I have
only interrupted you in a nap or a reverie--and I can see now that you
evidently came here to be alone."

Holding the manuscript more closely hidden under the folds of her cloak,
she smiled enigmatically. "I think I DID, and it seems that the tide
thought so too, and acted upon it. But you will come up to the hotel
with me, surely?"

"No, I am going back now." There was a sudden firmness about the young
fellow which she had never before noticed. This was evidently the
creature who had married in spite of his family.

"Won't you come back long enough to take your manuscript? I will point
out the part I refer to, and--we will talk it over."

"There is no necessity. I wrote to you that you might keep it; it is
yours; it was written for you and none other. It is quite enough for me
to know that you were good enough to read it. But will you do one thing
more for me? Read it again! If you find anything in it