he vast majority of
educated women, no matter what influences they should be subjected to,
would never be able to do this in the least; they would long for--silk
lamp-shades and rugs.

"Racing or dancing," Garda had replied, "_you_ would never win a prize
in either; you are far too slow."

"And you too indolent," he rejoined.

He had scarcely spoken the words when she was off. Down the beach she
sped, and with such unexpected swiftness that he stood gazing instead of
following; the line of her flight was as straight as that of an arrow.
He was surprised; he had not thought that she would take the trouble to
run, he had not thought her fond of any kind of exertion. But this did
not seem like exertion, she ran as easily as a slim lad runs; her figure
looked very light and slender, outlined against the beach and sky. As he
still stood watching her, she reached the end of the scallop, passed
round its point, and disappeared.

He looked back, there was no one in sight; if he had a mind to revive
his school-boy feats, he could do so without being observed. It was a
beautiful day; but running might make it warmer. At thirty-five one does
not run for the pure pleasure of it, as at sixteen; if one is not an
acrobat, it seems a useless waste of energy. Garda was probably waiting
for him beyond the next point, even her desire to surprise him would not
take her farther than that; he walked onward at a good pace, but he did
not run; he reached the point, turned it, and entered the next scallop.
She was not there.

It was not a very long scallop, she had crossed it, probably, while he
was crossing the last; he went on and entered the next. Again she was
not there. But this scallop was a mile long, she had certainly not had
time to cross it; where, then, could she be? There was nothing moving on
the white beach, the perpendicular sand-cliff afforded no footing; he
walked on, thinking that there must be some niche which he could not see
from where he stood. But though he went farther than she could possibly
have gone in the time she had had, he found nothing, and retraced his
steps, puzzled; the firm white sand showed no trace of her little feet,
even his own heavier tread was barely visible.

Not far from the entrance of the scallop across which he was now
returning, there was a pile of drift-wood higher than the other chance
heaps, its base having been more solidly formed by portions of an old
wreck which had been washed ashor