red into details.

But it would be idle to pretend I had not been indulging, and that
mightily, in all sorts of speculation upon the subject, and that within
my own mind. Would she resemble the little one to whose aid I had
come--prove a grown-up replica of her? If so, she would be something to
look at, I concluded. Yet, now that I beheld her, my first impression
of Beryl Matterson was a strange mingling of interest and
disappointment. Tall and very graceful of carriage, she stood there,
with outstretched hand of welcome. The tint of the smooth skin was that
of a dark woman, yet she had eyes of a rich violet blue--large, deep,
thoughtful--and her abundant brown hair was drawn back in a wavy ripple
from the temples.

But that her glance, so straight and scrutinising as it met mine, became
melting and tender as it rested upon her brother, I should have set her
down as of a cold disposition, and withal a trifle too resolute for a
woman, especially for one of her age. As it was, I hardly knew what to
think. She did not greatly resemble Brian, who though also tall and
handsome was very dark; yet I suspected his to be the gentler
disposition of the two.

"You are very welcome, Mr Holt," she said. "How strange that Brian
should have met you down there."

"It was not only strange but providential, for I was literally a
shipwrecked mariner thrown up on your shore without a dry stitch on me."

And I told her briefly the plight I had found myself in, when Brian had
come to the rescue. She listened with great interest.

"Well, I am more than ever glad he did. But what an experience! The
landing one, though, I have been through myself; the bar at East London
can be too terrific for words. By the way, we have a little sister
staying down there now with some friends. We thought the sea-bathing
would do her good, and she's so fond of it. Did you see her, perhaps?"

"Yes. She met us outside the town to say good-bye. What a pretty child
she is."

"She is, and nicely she gets spoiled on the strength of it," laughed
Beryl, but the laugh was wholly a pleasant one, without a tinge of envy
or resentment in it.

We chatted a little, and then she proposed we should stroll out and look
at the garden and some tiny ostrich chicks she was trying to rear, and
flinging on a large rough straw hat which was infinitely becoming, she
led the way, down through an avenue of fig trees, and opened a light
gate in the high quince he