the first glance. You are for me and I for you! And in your heart, you know it!”

“Come, oh, come!” she whispered hurriedly, paling a little. “We must not stand talking on the street. See, people are beginning to stare. You are making me conspicuous.” He followed her in silence disdaining to look about him, but already regretting his outburst. It had gathered more force and emphasis than he intended. His moodiness returned. Where were all the fine things he had planned to say? What a thistle eater he was!

They had reached Madison Square. She regained composure first and seated herself on a convenient bench. He heard again the sweet, low laughter and felt her eyes looking up to him.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he questioned ruefully.

“Immense!” Very prompt.

“You believe me, nevertheless.”

“Oh, I believe you do. But come, sit down and tell me about that home, a little further down than Charleston and Savannah. Coast?”

“Island,” he said, rather glad of the change.

“Surf, and all that, I suppose?”

“Nothing finer on the ocean. Coney Island, Rockaway, Cape May, Atlantic City—why, the surf there is a ripple compared with Cumberland and Tybee.”

“You swim, of course.”

“All islanders swim, like river rats. You should see the breakers at Cumberland—twenty miles of them down to Dungeness. It takes a swimmer to get through there, and back, when the wind is in the northeast. But it’s second nature with the natives. They ride the combers like wild horses.”

“How long have you ever been in the water—there, among the—wild horses?” She leaned forward eagerly, her eyes searching his every feature.

“Ten hours, once. You see I was pretty small and the tide took me out. But it couldn’t drown me. And a lumber boat happened along.”

“But if the boat hadn’t happened along?”

“Oh, the tide would have brought me back. Dead, maybe, but I think not. I am a floater. Some swimmers are not balanced right for floating. Women hardly ever.” She gave 

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