And the great round moon came up--the moon that made the moonlight where things happened that people were not to be blamed for. And Billee challenged King for a swim. In rented bath suit, King waited for her. She came, such a vision of loveliness as Coney Island in all its glory had seldom if ever beheld. For Billee had the light, slender figure of Ariel and was clad in the conventional two-piece suit of a boy. “Billee! For heaven’s sake, go back! or get in the water quick!” “Why, what’s the matter, King?” she said, puzzled, and then glancing down. “It is a little short and tight, but the girl in the store said it would fit. I couldn’t try it on. You ought to know that.” “But it’s a boy’s suit!” “Of course. Did you think I was going to put on one of those skirt things to swim in? I have too much sense for that. I’m going swimming, not promenading, King. And I’m surprised at you. That’s false modesty. If you are going to be ugly and--and--and look at me like I was name--name--named William, and spoil my holiday--” Her voice began to tremble. “It’s all right, Billee. Of course it isn’t your fault--ever. Come on, let’s get in the water.” Once in the water, King’s amazement was complete, and delight unbounded. Billee could not only swim, but swim along with him. It takes a swimmer to keep along with a Georgia islander in salt water. Her far-reaching overhand and under stroke was wonderfully graceful and effective. She glided through the water with that seal-like ease so seldom seen, but oftener in woman than in man. King was beside her, measuring stroke with stroke, her radiant face flashing up in the moonlight, her cheek level with the water. “How did you learn that, girl? It’s wonderful! wonderful!” he shouted. “A woman, one of the world’s great swimmers, taught me,” she said, “and to wear this kind of suit. Come, let’s get in deep water.” King was already on his way to deep water. Presently he felt himself falling behind a little, and then he realized that as long as it lasted her speed was more than equal to his best. “Great, isn’t it, King?” she breathed softly. “Friend or enemy, the ocean is always great.” Their course was straight out; the last bather was passed. “Careful, sir,” called a lifeguard, “the tide’ll be turning soon.” “Right O!” sang King. “But old Father Atlantic and I are chums!” “Show me how you float,” said Billee, resting on slow strokes, “I could never learn to float. My head _will_ go under!” King rolled over on his back and stretched his arms ahead. He lay like a piece of driftwood, pointing seaward. Wave after wave lifted him; combers broke over, but still the figure floated on without effort of its own. She decided to try it once more. It seemed so easy, and so absurd that he could do it without effort and she fail.