tle.

Immediately after breakfast, she went off with a long, swinging stride
which filled her small audience with envy and admiration. Disjointed
remarks, such as "skirt a little too short, but good tailor," and
"terrible amount of energy," and "wonder where she's going," followed
her. These comments were audible, had she been listening, but she had
the gift of keeping solitude in a crowd.

Far along the beach she went, hatless, her blood singing with the joy of
life. A June morning, the sea, youth, and the consciousness of being
loved--for what more could one ask? The diamond on the third finger of
her left hand sparkled wonderfully in the sunlight. It was the only ring
she wore.

[Sidenote: The Cook Book]

Presently, she found a warm, soft place behind a sand dune. She reared
upon the dune a dark green parasol with a white border, and patted sand
around the curved handle until it was, as she thought, firmly placed.
Then she settled her skirts comfortably and opened her book, for the
first time.

"It looks bad," she mused. "Wonder what a carbohydrate is. And
proteids--where do you buy 'em? Albuminoids--I've been from Maine to
Florida and have never seen any. They must be germs.

"However," she continued, to herself, "I have a trained mind, and
'keeping everlastingly at it brings success.' It would be strange if
three hours of hard study every day, on the book the man in the store
said was the best ever, didn't produce some sort of definite result.
But, oh, how Allan would laugh at me!"

The book fell on the sand, unheeded. The brown eyes looked out past the
blue surges to some far Castle in Spain. Her thoughts refused to phrase
themselves in words, but her pulses leaped with the old, immortal joy.
The sun had risen high in the shining East before she returned to her
book.

"This isn't work," she sighed to herself; "away with the dreams."

Before long, she got out her note-book. "A fresh fish," she wrote, "does
not smell fishy and its eyes are bright and its gills red. A tender
chicken or turkey has a springy breast bone. If you push it down with
your finger, it springs back. A leg of lamb has to have the tough, outer
parchment-like skin taken off with a sharp knife. Some of the oil of the
wool is in it and makes it taste muttony and bad. A lobster should
always be bought when he is alive and green and boiled at home. Then you
know he is fresh. Save everything for soup."

[Sidenote: The Air of Knowing]

"