rvent comment.

Beyond her were the sands of the bar and the Atlantic Ocean stretching
unbroken to the Madeiras and a flawless sky against which the gulls
dipped and screamed.

She was straight and vivid, and his pulses quickened, taking fire. Sun,
air and water; sparkle, radiance and color--these things were about him
filling his senses with delight and she seemed to epitomize them all in
a personal incarnation.

"Don't let me keep you standing," he begged her, belatedly remembering
his manners. "You were taking your case when I came. Besides, Old
Neptune in person will be along soon to claim this sandbar for himself.
Meanwhile, 'The time has come,' the walrus said, 'to talk of many
things.'"

"As for instance?"

"As for instance that there's less of the fortuitous in this meeting
than appears upon the surface."

"Then you knew I was on the sandbar?"

Stuart Farquaharson shook his head. "I didn't even know that you were at
Chatham. I just got here this morning driving through to Provincetown.
But I did know that you were on Cape Cod, and that is why I'm on Cape
Cod."

She dropped lightly to the sand and sat nursing her knees between
interlocked fingers. Stuart Farquaharson spread himself luxuriantly at
length, propped on one elbow. He could not help noting that the bare
knee was dimpled and that the curved flesh below it was satin-smooth and
the hue of apple blossoms. The warm breeze kept stirring her hair
caressingly and, against the glare, she lowered her long lashes, half
veiling her eyes. But at his avowal of the cause of his coming her lips
curved with humorous scepticism.

"I'm afraid you acted very hastily," she murmured. "You've only known I
was here for about six years."

He nodded, entirely unruffled.

"I have only recently been promoted to the high office of 'Master of my
fate'--but before we get to that--where are you stopping?"

"Our party will be here at Chatham for several days. We're stopping at
The Arms."

"You speak of a party, and that makes me realize the imperative need of
improving this golden moment," Stuart Farquaharson announced urbanely,
"because I have certain rude and elementary powers of deduction."

"Which lead you to what conclusion?" She turned eyes riffled with
amusement from the contemplation of a distant sail to his face, and he
proceeded to enlighten her.

"To two. First, that in Chatham, Massachusetts, as in the Valley of
Virginia, there is probably a Jimmy Hanc