citement
even. But instead of looking, he settled himself in a slightly
different position and fixed his gaze upon another point in the
horizon. She noted that he had splendid hands--ideal hands for a man,
with the same suggestion of intense vitality and aliveness that flashed
from his eyes. She had not noted this before. Next she saw that he
had good feet, and that his boots were his only article of apparel that
fitted him, or rather, that looked as if made for him.

She tossed her cigarette over the rail to the sand. He startled her by
speaking, in his unemotional way. He said:

"Now, I like you better."

"I don't understand," said she.

No answer from him. The cigarette depending listlessly from his lips
seemed--as usual--uncertain whether it would stay or fall. She watched
this uncertainty with a curious, nervous interest. She was always
thinking that cigarette would fall, but it never did. Said she:

"Why did you say you liked me less?"

"Better," corrected he.

"We used to have a pump in our back yard at home," laughed she. "One
toiled away at the handle, but nothing ever came. And it was a
promising-looking pump, too."

He smiled--a slow, reluctant smile, but undeniably attractive. Said he:

"Because you threw away your cigarette."

"You object to women smoking?"

"No," said he. His tone made her feel how absurd it was to suspect him
of such provincialism.

"You object to MY smoking?" suggested she; laughing, "Pump! Pump!"

"No," said he.

"Then your remark meant nothing at all?"

He was silent.

"You are rude," said she coldly, rising to go into the house.

He said something, what she did not hear, in her agitation. She paused
and inquired:

"What did you say?"

"I said, I am not rude but kind," replied he.

"That is detestable!" cried she. "I have not liked you, but I have
been polite to you because of Stanley and Mrs. Brindley. Why should
you be insulting to me?"

"What have I done?" inquired he, unmoved. He had risen as she rose,
but instead of facing her he was leaning against the post of the
veranda, bent upon his seaward vigil.

"You have insinuated that your reasons for not liking me were a
reflection on me."

"You insisted," said he.

"You mean that they are?" demanded she furiously. She was amazed at her
wild, unaccountable rage.

He slowly turned his head and looked at her--a glance without any
emotion whatever, simply a look that, like the beam of a p