back against a white wooden column. Her eyes,
upslanting and full of languor, looked out over the toiling, moiling
ocean. She was outlined as gently as a Rembrandt.

"A penny for your thoughts, Miss Sternberger."

Mr. Arnheim, the glowing end of a newly lighted cigar in one corner of
his mouth, peered his head over her shoulder.

"Oh, Mr. Arnheim, how you scared me!" Miss Sternberger placed the
well-groomed left hand, with a seal ring on the third finger, upon the
thread-lace bosom of her gown. "How you frightened me!"

"It's a nice night, Miss Sternberger. Want to walk on the beach?"

"Don't mind if I do," she said.

They strolled the length of the veranda, down the steps to the boardwalk
and the beach beyond.

Mrs. Blondheim rolled her crochet into a tight ball and stuck her needle
upright. "Come on, Bella; let's go to bed."

They trailed past the desk like birds with damp feathers.

"Send up some ice-water to three-hundred-and-eighteen," said Miss Bella
over the counter, her eyes straining meanwhile past the veranda to the
beach below.

Without, a moon low and heavy and red came out from the horizon; it cast
a copper-gold band across the water.

"Let's go down to the edge, kiddo."

Mr. Arnheim helped Miss Sternberger plow daintily through the sand.

"If I get sand in my shoes I'll blame you, Mr. Arnheim."

"Little slippers like yours can't hold much."

She giggled.

They seated themselves like small dunes on the white expanse of beach;
he drew his knees up under his chin and nursed them.

In the eery light they might have been a fay and a faun in evening
dress.

"Well," said Mr. Arnheim, exhaling loudly, "this is something like it."

"Ain't that a grand moon, though, Mr. Arnheim?"

"The moon 'ain't got a show when you're round, little one."

"I'll bet you say that to every girl you meet."

"Nix I do; but I know when a girl looks good to me."

"I wish I knew if you was jollyin' me or not."

He tossed his cigar into the surf that curled at their very feet,
leaving a rim of foam and scum. The red end died with a fizz. Then he
turned his dark eyes full upon her with a steady focus.

"If you knew me better you'd know that I ain't that sort of a fellow.
When I say a thing I mean it."

His hand lay outstretched; she poured rivulets of white sand between the
fingers. They watched the little mounds of sand which she patted into
shape.

"I'll bet you're a New York girl."

"Why?"

"I can t