e glistening ocean,
watched the water as it sparkled in the sunlight. Her eyes half-closed,
her entire being thrilled by a novel sensation of languor, she abandoned
herself to the voluptuousness of the place and moment. Had she been
alone, with no one to see her and no danger of a sudden surprise, she
would have loved to divest herself of all her clothing and, nymphlike,
roll nude in the golden sands like the woman she once saw in a picture
called "The Birth of the Wave." Her form was physically as beautiful.
She wondered if Armitage thought her beautiful--if he ever thought of
her at all as men think of women--and gradually her mind wandered in
strange channels.

As she lay there basking in the ardent sunshine, she felt the
pleasurable, exhilarating sensation of enjoying perfect animal health. A
strange feeling of languor came over her. This, she knew, was happiness
and the joy of life, and yet she felt that there was still something
lacking to make that happiness complete. As her eye dwelt on the
loveliness of the surrounding scene, perhaps for the first time she
understood the enthusiasm of those nature lovers who are content only
when in the country. What, indeed, were the artificial, tawdry delights
of the man-made cities compared with the delights of life in the
God-made fields? She thought of overheated ballrooms, inane afternoon
teas, tiresome bridge-parties. What were they compared to lying there,
listening to the birds singing in the trees, her cheek gently wafted by
the soft sea breeze, the pure air filling her lungs and shading the
damask on her cheek. If her dear old dad saw her he would hardly know
her.

She knew what her life lacked--love. A man whom she could admire and
respect, a man who would rule her with his iron will and crush her if
need be in his strong arms. Would she ever meet such a man? Had she
already met him? Once more her mind conjured up the picture of the ideal
man--the man of her day-dream on the steamer. If he should come along
now, would she have the strength of will to resist the pressure of his
ardent lips. Her eyes closed, she fancied she saw him coming, his head
thrown back, straight as an arrow, handsome as an Apollo. As he passed
he stopped, fascinated by her beauty. He came nearer, and with a cry of
joy clasped her closely in furious embrace. Weakly she tried to avoid
the warm kisses he rained on her too willing mouth. As she turned she
chanced to see his face, and, starting b