teady strokes.

She looked at him frowningly. There was no faintest tinge of dignity
about her, only the careless effrontery of childhood and the grace that
is childhood's heritage.

"I am going to swim as far as the skyline some day," she announced
lightly, "and look over the edge of the world."

"_Mais, mademoiselle_--"

She held up an imperious hand. "That is one of the things you are not
allowed to say. You are never to talk French to me. It is holiday-time
when I am with you, and I never talk French in the holidays, except to
Mademoiselle, who won't listen to English. And won't you call me Chris?
Everyone else does."

"Chris?" he repeated after her very softly, his eyes upon her, tenderly
indulgent. "Ah! let it be Christine. I may call you that?"

"Of course," she returned practically. "My actual name is Christina, but
that's a detail. You can call me Christine if you like it best."

"I have another name for you," he said, with slight hesitation.

"Have you?" she asked with interest. "What is it? Do tell me!"

But he still hesitated. "It will not vex you? No?"

She flashed him her merriest smile. "Of course not. Why should it?"

He smiled back upon her, but there was the light of something deeper than
mirth in his eyes. "I call you my bird of Paradise," he said.

"How pretty!" said Chris. "Quite poetical, _preux chevalier_! You may go
on calling me that if you like, but it's too long for general use. And
what shall I call you? Tell me your Christian name."

"Bertrand, mademoiselle."

She held up an admonitory finger. "Chris!"

"Christine," he said, with his friendly smile.

She nodded. "Now don't forget! I think I shall call you Bertie because it
sounds more English. I'm going to dive now, so don't row any farther."

She sprang to her feet and stepped on to the thwart, where she stood
balancing, her arms above her head.

He waited motionless to see her go. But she remained poised for several
seconds, the sunlight full upon her slim, straight figure and bare,
upraised arms. Her hair, that had begun to dry, fluttered a little in the
breeze. The splendour of it almost dazzled the onlooker. He sat with
bated breath. She was like a young goddess, invoking the spirit of the
morning.

Suddenly she turned a laughing face over her shoulder. "Bertie!"

He pulled himself together. "Christine!" he answered, with a quick smile.

She laughed a little more. "Well done! I wondered if you would remember.
Wi