not look happy as they landed, though paeans of praise were being sung
in his honour.

As the days passed on, "the fisherman of the Pass" began to dance
attendance on Annette. What had seemed a joke became serious. Aunt
Nina, urged by Philip, remonstrated, and even the mamma of the pink
sunbonnet began to look grave. It was all very well for a city
demoiselle to talk with a fisherman and accept favours at his hands,
provided that the city demoiselle understood that a vast and bridgeless
gulf stretched between her and the fisherman.

But when the demoiselle forgot the gulf and the fisherman refused to
recognise it, why, it was time to take matters in hand.

To all of Aunt Nina's remonstrances, Philip's growlings, and the
averted glances of her companions, Annette was deaf. "You are
narrow-minded," she said laughingly. "I am interested in Monsieur
LeConte simply as a study. He is entertaining; he talks well of his
travels, and as for refusing to recognise the difference between us,
why, he never dreamed of such a thing."

Suddenly a peremptory summons home from Annette's father put an end to
the fears of Philip. Annette pouted, but papa must be obeyed. She
blamed Philip and Aunt Nina for telling tales, but Aunt Nina was
uncommunicative, and Philip too obviously cheerful to derive much
satisfaction from.

That night she walked with the fisherman hand in hand on the sands. The
wind from the pines bore the scarcely recognisable, subtle freshness of
early autumn, and the waters had a hint of dying summer in their sob on
the beach.

"You will remember," said the fisherman, "that I have told you nothing
about myself."

"Yes," murmured Annette.

"And you will keep your promises to me?"

"Yes."

"Let me hear you repeat them again."

"I promise you that I will not forget you. I promise you that I will
never speak of you to anyone until I see you again. I promise that I
will then clasp your hand wherever you may be."

"And mademoiselle will not be discouraged, but will continue her
studies?"

"Yes."

It was all very romantic, by the waves of the Sound, under a harvest
moon, that seemed all sympathy for these two, despite the fact that it
was probably looking down upon hundreds of other equally romantic
couples. Annette went to bed with glowing cheeks, and a heart whose
pulsations would have caused a physician to prescribe unlimited
digitalis.

It was still hot in New Orleans when she returned home,