They informed him severally that she was an actress; that she was a widow with a deformed child of which she was ashamed; that she was a deserted wife; that she had once been married to a very wicked man of title; that she was “strange”—sat for hours on the beach alone, sang, swam, walked, did everything but flock with them. “God bless her!” said Brassid. The lady who snuffed arose. “Lord help _you_!” she said grimly. “Eh?” said Brassid. “What were those women who lured a man into a cave and made a swine of him?” Her appeal was to Brassid. “I suppose you mean the sirens.” “Yes, that was their name. That woman is a siren!” “And you’re in love with her!” charged the lady who was deaf, in a thick voice. “In love!” laughed Brassid. “Ha, ha, ha!” “Yes, ha, ha, ha!” mimicked the lady who snuffed. “I never saw her till to-day,” said Brassid. “Neither did that other man see the sirens until he passed them on his way home.” This convicted him before the six. And, in the solitude of his room, it went far toward convicting him before himself, though he still laughed his hollow ha, ha, ha! “Love at first sight! You! Old Brassid! Ha, ha, ha!” He was speaking to the gentleman who faced him in the mirror. At that moment she passed his door. She was softly singing: “They sailed away In a gallant bark.” He had seen her but once, yet he knew the rustle of her silken skirts! The next morning at ten Brassid was composing poems in bed, quite as he did at home—about her! He hummed and sang the things he fetched from within in a fashion which lent color to Mrs. Mouthon’s theory. Some one knocked on his door. “Come in!” sang Brassid, happily. But it was only the colored porter. He was winking his eyes rapidly, fancying that in that way he looked penitent while he did not feel so. The rumor of Brassid’s infatuation had reached the porter. “I’m sorry, sir,” said the porter. “Oh! What for, Bill?” So, suddenly had their comradeship grown to first names! “Everybody is sorry now and then. Brace up!” The porter stared. “The six-o’clock train, sir.” Now Brassid stared. “I forgot it, sir.” “Thank you,” said Brassid, and he gave the porter a dollar for forgetting the six-o’clock train! He had forgotten it more than the porter. II ON THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA They met more formally, presently, on the bottom of the sea. Brassid plunged in the moment he arrived at the surf, and went out and under with a long, strong push. He saw a face on the bottom. It stared uncannily up at him through the wavering green water. Brassid followed it and dragged it breathlessly to the surface. There she laughed at him. “I—I—thought you were d-dead!” gasped Brassid. “Not at all,” smiled the Sea-Lady. “Why, how long were you under?” “Not long.” “It seemed as if you had been there all day!”