registering impressions of sunlight on pearly stretches of sea, or
effects of green sward and grey rock in shadow.

"The Cornish coast in February is perfect," she decided, "and it's so
delightfully quiet. Heaven defend me from the 'fashionable resort',
which is some people's idea of the seaside. I read the most delicious
poem once. It began--

She was a lady of high degree,
A poor and unknown artist he.
'Paint me,' she said, 'a view of the sea.'
So he painted the sea as it looked the day
When Aphrodite arose from its spray,
And as she gazed on its face the while,
It broke in its countless dimpled smile.
'What a poky, stupid picture!' said she.
'It isn't anything like the sea!'

The wretched artist, in several more verses of poetry which I forget,
paints the sea in every possible effect of storm and calm, all to the
scorn of the lady, who decides--

'I don't believe he _can_ paint the sea!'

But in desperation he makes a final dash for her patronage, probably,
poor man, being hard up.

So he painted a stretch of hot brown sand,
With a big hotel on either hand,
And a handsome pavilion for the band.
Not a trace of the water to be seen,
Except one faint little streak of green.
'What a perfectly _exquisite_ picture!' said she,
'The very _image_ of the sea!'"

Lorraine laughed.

"No one can accuse Tangy Point of pavilions and big hotels! We seem
quite alone in the world, up on these cliffs. I haven't seen a solitary
person since we left the village."

"Which remark has instantly conjured up somebody. Look on the shore
below us--no, to the left, down there. I see the flutter of a feminine
skirt--yes, and masculine trousers too! He's getting out of a boat, and
going to speak to her. Actually a kiss! How touching! They don't know
that there are spectators on the cliffs. We must be hundreds of feet
above them. They look like specks!"

"I brought the field-glasses," said Lorraine, opening her satchel. "It
brings that couple as close and clear as possible. Why, I know that grey
costume and that crimson toque. It's Madame Bertier, as large as life!
Look for yourself. Carina!"

Margaret Lindsay readjusted the glasses to her sight and focused them on
the figures below.

"There's not a doubt about it!" she pronounced. "I can almost hear her
broken English! Who's the man?"

Lorraine stood frowning with concentrated thought.

"That's what is pu