He seemed to be a very tall, athletic person, wearing white trousers, a blue sack coat, and a white cap. He had thick, light hair very closely cut, long, light Dundreary whiskers, a smooth chin that was so markedly retreating that it apparently required courage to refrain from allowing it to be covered with a beard, prominent blue eyes, short upper lip, and extremely white teeth. This newcomer was sufficiently near the shore to permit all these items of personal appearance to be noted. "May I land, Miss Ffolliott?" he called out. "I don't know why not. But I'm not the owner of the beach here," she answered. In response the man laughed. The next moment he had half reefed the single sail. He took the oars, and brought the boat crunching on the sand; he flung out the anchor, and then leaped after it, pressing it down with his foot. Then he stood up and looked at the door of the barn, where Prudence still sat in the same position. She had watched his movements, a half smile on her face, her eyes narrowed to two glittering lines. "This is jolly good luck, isn't it?" he asked. Then he hastily added, "For me, I mean. When did you come?" "This morning," she answered. "Oh, I say, now," he continued, "isn't this jolly, though? Are you going to stay long?" "All summer, if I feel like it." "I say, now, are you really?" "Not really, but apparently, you know. Really I shall be somewhere else." The man laughed delightedly. "May I come up there in that hay-loft? It is a hay-loft, isn't it?" "Yes, it is a hay-loft; but it isn't mine, any more than the beach is mine." "Then I shall come." He ran up the steps two at a time. Miss Ffolliott shook hands with him without changing her position, save to reach forth a hand negligently. He sat down at the other side of the doorway. He looked out at the sea. "Jolly kind of a prospect, isn't it?" "Yes, if one likes salt water. How came you over here?" "Came in the _Cephalonia_." "When?" "Two weeks ago." "You look very well. Did the mud baths cure you?" "I suppose so; anyway, something cured me. I'm as fit as a man need be." "Why don't you say 'as right as a trivet?'" "Didn't think of a trivet. Isn't it jolly to see you, though?" "Thank you." The two gave one full glance at each other, then Prudence laughed. "Why do you laugh?" he asked, in an aggrieved tone. "I don't know unless it's because your conversation sounds so familiar." "Well, laugh if you feel like it: I know conversation isn't my strong point." "I know it isn't." "I say, you're not very polite." "And you're not very polite to tell me I'm not polite," she retorted. The man laughed again, and began, "I say, now--" when Prudence interrupted him. "Don't tell me it's jolly to see me." "No, I won't; but it is--" "There, you are at it again!" "Oh, I beg your pardon."