ecent tears.

"You don't look exactly smart," she said critically. "Hope I don't
intrude?"

"Not a bit." Merefleet stumbled to his feet and raised his hat. "Pardon
my sluggishness! How are you this morning?"

"Fresh as paint," she returned. "But I'm just dying to get on the water.
And Bert has gone off somewhere by himself. I guess you'll help me, Big
Bear. Won't you?"

Merefleet glanced from the sea to the sun.

"There's a change coming," he said. "I will go with you with pleasure.
But I think it would be advisable to wait till the afternoon as usual. We
shall probably know by then what sort of weather to expect."

Mab pouted a little.

"We shan't go at all if we wait," she declared. "Why can't we go while
the fine weather lasts? I believe you want to back out of it. It's real
lazy of you, Big Bear. You shan't read, anyhow."

She took his paper from his unresisting hands, dug a hole in the shingle
with vicious energy, and covered it over.

"Now what?" she said, looking up at him with an impudent smile.

"Now," said Merefleet gravely, "I will take you for a row."

"Will you? Big Bear, you're a brick. I'll put you into my will. No, I
won't, because I haven't got anything to leave. And you wouldn't want
it if I had. Say, Big Bear! Haven't you got any friends?"

Merefleet looked surprised at the abrupt question.

"I have one friend in England besides yourself, Miss Ward," he replied.
"His name is Clinton. But he is married and done for."

"My! What a pity!" she exclaimed. "Isn't he happy?"

"Oh, yes, I think so. Still, you know, most fellows have to sacrifice
something when they marry. He was a war-correspondent. But he has spoilt
himself for that."

"I see." Mab was prodding the shingle with the end of her sunshade,
her face very thoughtful. Suddenly she looked up. "Never get married,
Big Bear!" she said vehemently. "It's the most miserable state in
Christendom."

"Anyone would think you spoke from experience," said Merefleet, smiling
a little.

But Mab did not smile.

"I know a lot, Big Bear," she said, with a sharp sigh.

Merefleet was silent. His thoughts had gone back to the previous night.
He was surprised when she suddenly alluded to the episode.

"There's that man Ralph Warrender," she said. "I guess the woman that's
married him thinks he's A1 and gilt-edged now, poor soul. But he's just a
miserable patchwork mummy really, and there isn't any white in him--no,
not a speck."

She spoke w