om of the shore,"
he pursued.

"I did not mean to dig," Beth said, looking up in his face; and then
looking round about her in perfect comprehension of his mood--"The
beautiful bare brown bosom of the shore," she slowly repeated,
delighting in the phrase. "It's the kind of thing you can sing, you
know."

"Yes," said the man, suddenly smiling; "it is pure poetry, and I make
you a present of the copyright."

"But," Beth objected, "the shore is _not_ brown. I've been thinking
and thinking what to call it. It's the colour--the colour of--the
colour of tarnished silver," she burst out at last triumphantly.

"Well observed," he said.

"Then I make you a present of the copyright," Beth answered readily.

"Thank you," he said; "but it will not scan."

"What is scan?"

"It won't fit into the verse, you know."

"The beautiful bare colour-of-tarnished-silver bosom of the shore,"
she sang out glibly; then agreed, with a wise shake of her head, that
the phrase was impossible; and recurred to another point of interest,
as was her wont--"What is copyright?"

Before he could answer, however, Mrs. Caldwell had swooped down upon
them. She had seen him from the cliff talking to Beth, and hastened
down the steps in her hot-tempered way, determined to rebuke the man
for his familiarity, and heedless of Aunt Victoria, who had made an
effort to stop her.

"May I ask why you are interfering with my child, sir?" she demanded.

The man in the sailor-suit raised his hat and bowed low.

"Excuse me, madam," he said. "I could not possibly have supposed that
she was your child."

Mrs. Caldwell coloured angrily as at an insult, although the words
seemed innocent enough. When he had spoken, he turned to Beth, with
his hat still in his hand, and added--"Good-bye, little lady. We must
meet again, you and I--on the beautiful bare brown bosom of the
shore."

Beth's sympathy shone out in a smile, and she waved her hand
confidingly to him as he turned away. Mrs. Caldwell seized her arm and
hurried her up the steps to Aunt Victoria, who stood on the edge of
the cliff blinking calmly.

"Imagine Beth scraping acquaintance with such a common-looking
person!" Mrs. Caldwell cried. "You must never speak to him or look at
him again--do you hear? I wonder what taste you will develop next!"

"It is a pity that you are so impetuous, Caroline," Aunt Victoria
observed quietly. "That gentleman is the Count Gustav Bartahlinsky,
who may perhaps be co