e castness, not
much bigger than Jenny's cap of scarlet stockinette, left long ago on
the beach at Clacton.

"Hullo, there's somebody coming along the sands. Can you see them?"
asked Jenny.

"A long way off?" inquired May, peering.

"Yes, just a speck--now--where those rocks are. No, you're looking in
the wrong place. Much further along," directed Jenny.

"You _can_ see a way," said May.

The figure drew nearer, but was still too far off for them to determine
the quality or sex, as they watched the sea-swallows keep ever their
distance ahead, swift-circling companies.

"I wonder who it is?" said Jenny.

"I can't ever remember seeing anyone on the beach before," said May.

"Nor can I. It's a man."

"Is it?"

"Or I think so," Jenny added.

"What a line of footmarks there'll be when he's gone past," said May.

"It is a man," Jenny asserted.

Suddenly she went dead white, flushed crimson, whitened again and
dropped the half-strung necklace of shells.

"I believe I know him, too," she murmured.

"Shut up," scoffed May. "Unless it's Fuz?"

"No, it's not him. May, I'd like to be alone when he comes along. Or I
don't think I'll stay. Yes, I will. And no, don't go. You stay, too. It
_is_ him. It is."

Maurice approached them. He gave much the same impression as on the
first night of the ballet of Cupid, when at the end of the court he
raised his hat to Jenny and Irene.

"I--I wondered if I should meet you," he said.

His presence was less disturbing to Jenny than his slow advance. She
greeted him casually as if she were saluting an acquaintance passed
every morning:

"Hullo."

Maurice was silent.

"Isn't it a lovely morning?" said Jenny. "This is my sister May."

Maurice raised his cap a second time.

"I wonder," he said, looking intently at Jenny, "I wonder if--if----" he
plunged into the rest of the sentence. "Can I speak to you alone a
minute?"

"Whatever for?" asked Jenny.

"Oh, I wanted to ask you something."

Jenny debated with herself a moment. Why not? He had no power to move
her now. She was able coldly to regard him standing there on the
seashore, a stranger, no more to her than a piece of driftwood left by
the tide.

"I'll catch you up in a minute," she said to May.

"All right, I'll go on. Pleased to have met you," said May, shaking
hands shyly with Maurice.

He and Jenny watched her going towards the towans. When she was out of
earshot, Maurice burst forth:

"Jenny, Jenny