How could I possibly know that the chaste salute of Eddie Perkins and my head on Carter Brooks' shoulder were both plainly visible against the rising moon? But this was the case, especially from the house next door. But I digress. Suddenly Carter held me off and shook me somewhat. "Sit up here and tell me about it," he said. "I'm getting more scared every minute. You are such an impulsive little beast, and you turn the fellows' heads so--look here, is Jane Raleigh lying, or did you run away and get married to someone?" I am aware that I should have said, then and there, No. But it seemed a shame to spoil things just as they were getting interesting. So I said, through my tears: "Nobody understands me. Nobody. And I'm so lonely." "And of course you haven't run away with anyone, have you?" "Not--exactly." "Bless you, Bab!" he said. And I might as well say that he kissed me, because he did, although unexpectedly. Somebody just then moved a chair on the porch next door and coughed rather loudly, so Carter drew a long breath and got up. "There's something about you lately, Bab, that I don't understand," he said. "You--you're mysterious. That's the word. In a couple of years you'll be the real thing." "Come and see me then," I said in a demure manner. And he went away. So I sat on my bench and looked at the sea and dreamed. It seemed to me that centuries must have passed since I was a lighthearted girl, running up and down that beach, paddling, and so forth, with no thought of the future farther away than my next meal. Once I lived to eat. Now I merely ate to live, and hardly that. The fires of genius must be fed, but no more. Sitting there, I suddenly made a discovery. The boat house was near me, and I realized that upstairs, above the bath-houses, et cetera, there must be a room or two. The very thought intrigued me (a new word for interest, but coming into use, and sounding well). Solitude--how I craved it for my work. And here it was, or would be when I had got the place fixed up. True, the next door boat-house was close, but a boat-house is a quiet place, generally, and I knew that nowhere, aside from the desert, is there perfect silence. I investigated at once, but found the place locked and the boatman gone. However, there was a lattice, and I climbed up that and got in. I had a fright there, as it seemed to be full of people, but I soon saw it was only the family bathing suits hung up to dry. Aside from the odor of drying things it was a fine study, and I decided to take a small table there, and the various tools of my profession. Climbing down, however, I had a surprise. For a man was just below, and I nearly put my foot on his shoulder in the darkness. "Hello!" he said. "So it's YOU." I was quite speechless. It was Mr. Beecher himself, in his dinner clothes and bareheaded. Oh fluttering heart, be still. Oh pen, move steadily. OH TEMPORA O MORES! "Let me down," I said. I was still hanging to the lattice.