Just then the latch of the Selwyns’ front gate clicked, and Jacqueline appeared on the shaded street. Peggie came to a speedy resolution. “Jacqueline!” she cried. “Wait a minute until I get my hat. I want to join you.” As the girl stopped at the foot of the path, Merrington went briskly toward her. She met him with grave annoyance. “We have become near neighbors, Miss Selwyn.” There was not a trace of nervousness in the clear tones. “That is a seaside perquisite. Asbury, especially, makes the whole world kin.” He could not have said that she was rude, but every word was a rebuff and a disclaimer of intimacy. His instinct told him it was not rudeness of which she was accusing him. So much, at least, had his introduction to her wrought. The reflection made him smile genially, and she noted how dazzling his even teeth were in his suntanned face. “Miss Selwyn, I wish you would forgive me.” “Really there is nothing to forgive. Do you think Mrs. Le Moyne has forgotten me?” “I am sure she has not. Do you know that is the first friendly remark you have made me?” He saw her brows arch themselves slightly while her glance sought him an instant. “To be frank with you,” she said, “I do not know that I meant it to be particularly friendly.” “It wasn’t, but you have been so particularly unfriendly.” She flushed, turning long before she needed to greet Peggie, who came leisurely down the walk with book and parasol, and tossed a cap to Merrington. “We are all going to listen to the music, isn’t that it?” she asked. “The orchestra is really worth hearing this year--too good, indeed, for the crowd that goes to the pavilions.” “I am going in the water,” Jacqueline said, laying an accent of defense on the pronoun. They walked on together, Peggie in the middle. “Let us all go,” Merrington urged. “It is a gorgeous day. The sea is absolutely singing to us.” When they reached the board walk, the sea stretched out before them resplendent in the sun. There were a few bathers at the upper lines, but lower down, the beach could be seen already dotted by the patrons of the more central baths. In the glare of the hot sun the walk was empty, but in the grateful coolness of the pavilions many had gathered to hear the music. Peggie espied an acquaintance on the platform above them, and ran thither. Jacqueline was plainly provoked. “If Peggy deserts us,” Merrington said, sententiously, “why should we not desert Peggie?” Jacqueline frowned. “Need I detain you?” she asked. “I was coming here alone when your cousin stopped me. That is, I mean, I was going in the water. I had no intention of stopping in this sunless dampness.” “I hate it, too. Why should we stop?” The girl looked at him intently, her heart quickening with an emotion that she could not have defined, so complex was it, indeed, of many emotions. Mingled with her anger and annoyance was an almost imperceptible tremor of fear which made her catch her breath.