The task which Olive had set herself was anything but congenial. However, she went through with it bravely, and for upwards of an hour she steeled herself to endure the smokiness of the cabins and the ancient and fish-like smells, the maunderings of the old crones and the distracting yells of the babies, without flinching. She had a bright smile and a cheerful word for all as they grumbled or whined--according to temperament--that it was "mortal long since she'd bin near them," and pretended to think it was not one word for herself and six for the basket she carried, but the other way about. She endured all this right manfully, and when it came to an end, with a sigh of relief, she tripped lightly down the beach to revel in the fresh sea air and a sense of duty done. "Well met!" She started at the voice--a genuine start. Truth to tell she coloured. "This is a piece of luck," went on the speaker. He had been talking with one of the men, and both being behind a large fishing boat, Olive had not noticed them. "I had no idea any of your flock pastured here." "Yes, they do. But it isn't often I do anything in the way of shepherding them. That isn't in my line at all. In fact--I--I hate it." The candour of this avowal was delicious. They both burst out laughing. "I can more than half believe that," he said. "But then why don't you delegate the _role_ of Lord High Almoner to someone else? There's Turner, for instance. It would be just in his line, I should think." A queer look, a wicked look, came into the girl's face at the mention of Turner. "He wouldn't undertake it for me. He's angry with me. Mr Dorrien, don't you hate clergymen?" "Truth compels me to state that I'm not partial to them as a rule." "Oh, indeed? And why don't you look shocked at my question and say, `Er--not very flattering to your father, is it?' or something to that effect? That's how you ought to retort, by every known rule," said Olive, wickedly demure. "And why don't you look shocked at my answer and say, `Er--kindly remember that you are reflecting on my father'? That's how you ought to retort, etc, etc." "Because," answered Olive, when she had recovered from the laughter into which his quizzical reply had launched her, "because I know you were making an exception in his favour as well as you knew I was. So we are agreed on that head." "Quite so. There's nothing like a good understanding to begin with. And now by way of trying whether it'll continue, let's see if you'll fall in with my idea. We must go for a sail. How does that idea strike you?" "As perfection," she rejoined, looking up at him with a light laugh. "Jem Pollock has the lightest boat here, but even that's a shocking tub." It was. By the time they had put a couple of hundred yards between themselves and the beach Roland was fain to admit the justice of the stigma. "Where are we going to?" asked Olive, as he suddenly turned the boat's head and coasted along the shore.