he said. "You-all call 'em corsets."

Yet, the effect of this conversation reached beyond the humorous. In
some subtle fashion, it provoked the girl to keener interest in the
young man. She was perhaps, though she would have denied the
suggestion hotly, a little piqued by the exaltation with which he
praised his rustic sweetheart. Josephine was an exceedingly attractive
young woman, and she was accustomed to having men show their
appreciation of the fact. It was new to her thus essentially to be
ignored, and not quite agreeable. There could be no tender interest
between herself and this handsome barbarian. The idea even of
flirtation was quite inconceivable. Nevertheless, it was strange that
he should be so imperceptive of her charms. Doubtless, his eyes were
blind to the refinements of beauty. They should be opened. It would be
dreadful if the fellow should grow away from the girl who was waiting
for him. And yet--Josephine checked her thoughts, and blushed a
little. But a plan matured.

That plan was followed diplomatically when she secured a private
interview with her father, after the return on board the yacht.

"Daddy, dear," she said, with a manner as casual as she could
contrive, "let's keep this Mister Higgins on board. He's bound for New
York, but in no particular hurry. We'll get him there in about ten
days."

Mr. Blaise, who was a plethoric, fussy little man, adamant to all the
world save his only child, regarded her now in perplexity, his shrewd
eyes a bit mischievous.

"I don't imagine it's to be the stereotyped romance, just because you
dragged him out of the sea," he said. "The chap has the makings of
considerable of a man in him, and he's good-looking enough to catch a
girl's fancy; but he's not your sort. So, why?"

"Besides," Josephine retorted, smiling, "Florence has the same right
in him as treasure trove. That would make the romance too
complicated."

"Why?" Mr. Blaise repeated.

"I've never met anyone like him," the girl explained, with truth, if
not all the truth. "He's unique. I want to study him. Such knowledge
is broadening--better than books."

"Bosh!" was the comment. "You mean, he's just a freak to you, and
you'd like to look him over a little longer. There's no harm in that,
if it amuses you. But don't be silly about broadening yourself." He
regarded his daughter critically. "And leave out the deserts. They're
too broadening, if you like. You're getting plump."

Josephine acc