ive and
restrained, so I'll only say that you have the most flawless beauty I've
ever seen."

"The tide is rising," she reminded him irrelevantly. "We'd better be
starting back." She put her hands up to her wind-blown hair and began
coiling it into abundant masses on her head, while he was kneeling on
the sand and tying the ribbon of her bathing slipper.

They crossed the bar and went into the water, swimming side by side with
easy strokes, and when the return trip was half completed they saw the
head of another swimmer coming out.

"That's Billy Stirling," she told him. "He seems to have guessed where I
was."

"I was right," sighed the Virginian. "He out-Jimmies Jimmy Hancock. I
don't like this Stirling person."

"You don't know him yet, you know."

"Quite true, but I don't have to know him to dislike him. It's a matter
of general principle."

But in spite of his announcement, Stuart did like Billy Stirling. He
liked him from the moment that gentleman thrust a wet paw out of the
water to shake hands and tossed the brine from a grinning face to
acknowledge the girl's introduction. He liked him even better for the
Puck-like irresponsibility of his good humor as, later on, he introduced
Stuart to the others of the party.

"Now that you've met this crew, you are to consider yourself a member,"
declared Stirling, though he added accusingly, "I promoted this
expedition and used great discrimination in its personnel. It struck me
as quite complete before your intrusion marred its symmetry, but you're
here and we've got to make the best of you."

The women differed with Mr. Stirling and scathingly told him so, to his
immense delight.

"The difference between a party made up in handcuffed pairs, like this
has been, and one equipped with an extra man or two is the exact
difference between frugal necessity and luxury," protested Henrietta
Raven, sententiously.

"I suppose you get the fact that these guileless kids over here are our
venerated chaperons?" said the host with a pointed finger. "They are so
newly-wed that they still spoon publicly--which is disgraceful, of
course, but reduces the obnoxiousness of chaperons."

The week that followed in Chatham was a momentous time and a turning
point for the young Virginian. In a way it was epochal in his life.
Though he was assimilated into the party as if he had been one of them
from childhood, he found little opportunity to be alone with Conscience.
Indeed the idea