"'Never mind,' I said, magnanimously, 'you probably are not familiar with modern literature. If I knew your name I should ask permission to present myself.' "'Why, I am Daisy Holroyd,' she said. "'What! Jack Holroyd's little sister?' "'Little?' she cried. "'I didn't mean that,' said I. 'You know that your brother and I were great friends in Paris--' "'I know,' she said, significantly. "'Ahem! Of course,' I said, 'Jack and I were inseparable--' "'Except when shut in separate cells,' said Miss Holroyd, coldly. "This unfeeling allusion to the unfortunate termination of a Latin-Quarter celebration hurt me. "'The police,' said I, 'were too officious.' "'So Jack says,' replied Miss Holroyd, demurely. "We had unconsciously moved on along the sand-hills, side by side, as we spoke. "'To think,' I repeated, 'that I should meet Jack's little--' "'Please,' she said, 'you are only three years my senior.' "She opened the sunshade and tipped it over one shoulder. It was white, and had spots and posies on it. "'Jack sends us every new book you write,' she observed. 'I do not approve of some things you write.' "'Modern school,' I mumbled. "'That is no excuse,' she said, severely; 'Anthony Trollope didn't do it.' "The foam spume from the breakers was drifting across the dunes, and the little tip-up snipe ran along the beach and teetered and whistled and spread their white-barred wings for a low, straight flight across the shingle, only to tip and run and sail on again. The salt sea-wind whistled and curled through the crested waves, blowing in perfumed puffs across thickets of sweet bay and cedar. As we passed through the crackling juicy-stemmed marsh-weed myriads of fiddler crabs raised their fore-claws in warning and backed away, rustling, through the reeds, aggressive, protesting. "'Like millions of pygmy Ajaxes defying the lightning,' I said. "Miss Holroyd laughed. "'Now I never imagined that authors were clever except in print,' she said. "She was a most extraordinary girl. "'I suppose,' she observed, after a moment's silence--'I suppose I am taking you to my father.' "'Delighted!' I mumbled. 'H'm! I had the honor of meeting Professor Holroyd in Paris.' "'Yes; he bailed you and Jack out,' said Miss Holroyd, serenely. "The silence was too painful to last. "'Captain McPeek is an interesting man,' I said. I spoke more loudly than I intended. I may have been nervous. "'Yes,' said Daisy Holroyd, 'but he has a most singular hotel clerk.' "'You mean Mr. Frisby?' "'I do.' "'Yes,' I admitted, 'Mr. Frisby is queer. He was once a bill-poster.' "'I know it!' exclaimed Daisy Holroyd, with some heat. 'He ruins landscapes whenever he has an opportunity. Do you know that he has a passion for bill-posting? He has; he posts bills for the pure pleasure of it, just as you play golf, or tennis, or squash.' "'But he's a hotel clerk now,' I said; 'nobody employs him to post bills.'