Nina, who had been ousted by Mrs. Earle's long arms, which flashed round a glowing patch like two serpents, sprang up and ran down to the foot of the hill, where the vines were more straggling and less popular. Thorpe followed, laughing. Her hat had been lost in the fray; her hair was down and blown about in the evening wind, and her cheeks were crimson. "I hate long-legged long-armed giantesses," she exclaimed, attacking a vine spitefully. "And Spanish people are treacherous, anyhow. That patch was mine." Thorpe laughed heartily. Her temper was genuine. His spirits suddenly felt lighter; she looked like a spoilt child, not like a girl with a tragic secret. "She upset my basket, too," continued Nina, viciously. "But she upset half her own at the same time, and I trod on them, on purpose." "Here, let me fill your basket while you make a mud pie." He plucked his portion and hers, while she dug her fingers into the sand, and recovered her temper. As Thorpe dropped the replenished basket into her lap, she tossed her hair out of her eyes, and smiled up at him. "Sit down and rest," she said, graciously. "Supper won't be ready for a half hour yet, and that hill is something to climb." The others had finished their task, and disappeared over the brow of the hill. The west was golden; even the sea was yellow for the moment. "We know how to enjoy ourselves out here," said Nina, contentedly, sinking her elbow into the sand. "I should think it a good place to pitch your tent." She flirted her eyelashes at him, and looked so incapable of being serious that he answered, promptly,-- "I shall, if I can find some one to make it comfortable." "You don't need to go begging. You're quite the belle. Several that are more or less _éprises_ are splendid housekeepers." "I am not looking for a housekeeper." "What are you looking for?" she asked, audaciously. Her chin was in her hand; her unbound hair clung about her; her tiny feet moved beneath the hem of her frock. He also was lying on his elbow, his face close to hers. He had always followed her cues, and if she wished to flirt at this late date he was quite willing to respond. He made up his mind abruptly to dismiss all plans and drift with the tide. "You," he said, softly. "Are you proposing to me?" He noted that she ignored his actual proposal, and commended her tact. "I am not so sure that I am; I am surer that I want to." "You are a cautious calculating Englishman." "I believe I am--up to a certain point." "Your face looks so hard and brown in that shadow. I've had men propose the third time they met me." "Probably." "You can propose, if it will ease your mind. I shall never marry." "Why not?" "I think it would be heavenly to be an old maid, and make patchwork quilts for missionaries." "I shall take pleasure in imagining you in the rôle when I am digging away at Blue Books and Reports." "Ah, never, never more!" she chanted, lightly.