There, the figure-head of the woman under the tall fuchsia-tree--the glow from the fire in the sitting-room fell upon the face through the window--seemed to smile upon him as upon an old friend. He went back again and sat down. Where was Armorel? This strange familiarity with an unknown place quickly passes, though it may return. He now began to feel as if, perhaps, he was making a mistake. He was living on an island, with, practically, no other companion than a girl of fifteen. Dick, who had become suddenly grumpy on learning his resolution to stay, might be right. Well, he would sketch and paint; he would be very careful; not a word should be said that might disturb the child's tranquillity. No--Dick was a fool. He was going to have a day or two--just a day or two--of quiet happiness. The girl was young and beautiful and innocent. She was also made happy--she showed that happiness without an attempt at concealment--because he was going to stay. What would follow? Well--it was an adventure. One does not ask what is going to follow on first encountering an adventure. What young man, besides, sallying forth upon a simple holiday, looks to find himself upon a desert island with no other companion than a trustful and admiring maiden of fifteen? Then Armorel returned and took a chair beside him. He was a little surprised--but then, on a desert island nothing happens as on terra firma--that she did not ring for lights, and was still not without some hope of dinner. They took up the thread of talk about the islands, concerning which Roland Lee perceived that he would before long know a good deal. Local knowledge is always interesting; but it does not, except to novelists, possess a marketable value. One cannot, for instance, at a dinner-party, turn the conversation on the respective families of St. Agnes and St. Martin's. He made a mental note that he would presently change the subject to one of deeper personal interest. Perhaps he could get Armorel to talk about herself. That would be very much more interesting than to hear about the three Pipers' Holes of Tresco, White, and St. Mary's Islands. How did she live--this girl--and what did she do--and what did she think? Meantime, while the girl herself was talking of the rocks and bays, the crags and coves, the white sand and the grey granite, the seals and the shags, the puffins and the dottrells, she was wondering, for her part, what manner of man this was--how he lived, and what he did, and what he thought. For when man and woman meet they are clothed and covered up; they are a mystery each to the other; never, since the Fall, have we been able to read each other's hearts. But when the clock struck seven Armorel sprang to her feet, as one who hath a serious duty to perform, and preparations to make for it.