attractive than wits warranted by any law of probability--it would be
distressingly out of keeping with the charm and grace of the figure
which came into full view as he waded ashore in spite of the masses of
dark and lustrous hair which fell free. The unknown lady was sitting on
the sand with her back half turned and, in the soaked and clinging silk
of her bathing dress, she had an alluring lissomness of line and curve.
If her face _did_ match her beauty of body she would have rather more
than one woman's share of Life's gifts, he philosophized, and by
Nature's law of compensation she would probably be vapid and insipid of
mind.

But while he was engaging himself in these personal speculations the
lady herself was obviously quite serene in her ignorance of his presence
or existence. She conceived herself to be in sole possession of her
island kingdom of an hour and was complacently using it as an exclusive
terrain.

She had removed her blue bathing cap and tossed it near by on the sand.
She had let her hair out free to the sun, in whose light it glowed
between the rich darkness of polished mahogany and the luster of jet.

After all perhaps he had better announce himself in some audible fashion
since, secure in her supposed isolation, the other occupant of the bar
proceeded to remove a silk stocking, which matched the cap in color,
and to examine with absorbed interest what he supposed to be a
stone-bruise on an absurdly small and pink heel. Discreetly he coughed.

The young woman looked quickly over her shoulder and their eyes met. A
perfunctory apology for invasion shaped itself in his mind, but remained
unuttered. He stood instead, his lips parted and his eyes brimming with
astonishment. The face not only met the high requirements set for it by
his idea of appropriateness, but abundantly surpassed the standard.
Moreover, it was a face he recognized. He was not at first quite certain
that her recognition of him had been as swift. A half dozen years,
involving the transition from boyhood to manhood might have dimmed his
image in her memory, so he hastened to introduce himself, striding
across as she came a little confusedly to her feet--one silk shod and
one bare.

"Heaven be praised, Conscience," he shouted with an access of boyish
elation in his voice. "This is too lucky to believe. Don't say you've
absolutely forgotten me--Stuart Farquaharson."

She stood there before him, dangling a stocking in her left hand