d have one with you wandering,"

or where you might turn and look across the still lapping harbour, out
through the little neck of light between the headlands to the
shimmering sea beyond,--your ears filled with a melting tide of sweet
sounds, the murmur of the streams and the gentle surging of the sea,
the rippling of leaves, the soft restless whisper of women's gowns, and
the music of their vowelled voices. It was here I found myself sitting
at sunset, alone, but so completely under the spell of the place that I
needed no companion. The place itself was companion enough. The
electric fairy lamps had popped alight; and as the sun sank lower,
Yellowsands seemed like a glowing crown of light floating upon the
water.

I had as yet failed to catch any sight of Rosalind; so I sat alone, and
so far as I had any thoughts or feelings, beyond a consciousness of
heavenly harmony with my surroundings, they were for that haunting
unknown face with the violet eyes and the heavy chestnut hair.

Presently, close by, the notes of a guitar came like little gold
butterflies out of the twilight, and then a woman's voice rose like a
silver bird on the air. It was a gay wooing measure to which she sang.
I listened with ears and heart. "All ye," it went,--

All ye who seek for pleasure,
Here find it without measure--
No one to say
A body nay,
And naught but love and leisure.

All ye who seek forgetting,
Leave frowns and fears and fretting,
Here by the sea
Are fair and free
To give you peace and petting.

All ye whose hearts are breaking
For somebody forsaking,
We'll count you dear,
And heal you here,
And send you home love-making."

"Bravo!" I cried involuntarily, as the song ended amid multitudinous
applause; and I thus attracted the attention of another who sat near me
as lonely as myself, but evidently quite at home in the place.

"You haven't heard our sirens sing before?" he said, turning to me with
a pleasant smile, and thus we fell into talk of the place and its
pleasures.

"There's one feature of the place I might introduce you to if you care
for a stroll," he said presently. "Have you heard of The Twelve
Golden-Haired Bar-maids?" I hadn't, but the fantastic name struck my
fancy. It was, he explained, the name given to a favourite buffet at
the Hotel Aphrodite, which was served by twelve wonderful girls, not
one under six feet in height, and all