They sat out on the porch, under the stars, and talked of various indifferent things. He discovered that she had not been there before, and insisted on taking her down the Promenade to the beach. There they sat on the sand and talked again upon indifferent things. It was calm and cool with the water sipping in front of them and the music from the hotel faintly behind them. Joy found herself liking Grant Grey very much indeed for so short an acquaintance. There was something so boyish and straightforward about him, a something that was decidedly different from the men she had been meeting at Jerry’s. Even if they were only college boys, they had a great deal of slangy sophistication that “Grant” did not possess. Then, too, the way he treated her was less—the only fitting word she could think of was _hectic_—than the way she had been treated lately. His grave respect and quiet talk of sailing, boats and similar neutral subjects were especially welcome after the argument with Packy on the way down in the car. And when he did abruptly shift the conversation to personalities, it was done in such a way that she did not mind. “You know—I never thought before that I’d enjoy talking to a girl so much.” “I’ve enjoyed it, too,” she replied; and then they were both silent, looking ahead of them at the indifferent waters. Neither knew exactly what to make of the magnetic current that seemed to flow from one to the other, even in the simplest sentences that they spoke. “I know now when it was,” said Grant finally, after a little silence had been growing. “When what was?” “When I felt the way I do, about you. When I first saw you come into the room with Packy.” Joy felt herself growing warm. How had things come as far as this—in half an hour? She rose, and shook the sand from her skirts. “We must go in. I don’t know how many dances we’ve missed. I never lost track of the time so before.” “Neither did I——” said the boy beside her as they faltered back over the way they had come. At the door they encountered Packy, who had hailed them with reserved cordiality. “Where in blazes have you two been? The dance was over fifteen minutes ago and I’ve been looking for you ever since.” They had not even noticed that the music had stopped. “All my fault, Packy,” said Grant. “I took her down to see the Promenade.” And then the two stood looking at each other. “When may I see you again?” he asked. Joy had been hoping for those words, but now that they had come, she was incoherent with relief. “I—why——” she stammered. Packy intervened while she hesitated. “You’ve got your nerve, Grant—I’ll hand it to you. But I brought Joy down here—dost follow the trend of my remarks?” Grant paid no attention to him. “So that’s your name—Joy? It—fits you.” “Let’s discuss names for awhile,” said Packy acidly. “We’ve nothing to do but ease back to Boston, and it’s only one-fifteen.” “You have to go back to Boston at this hour?” cried Grant, incredulous.