“Floating around, like this, King. It’s awful! Floating around in the ocean, this a-way. And no chaperone!” “Except the moon.” “And not--engaged, even!” “Awful, Billee!” “King, can you float with only one hand behind you, like you did that night?” “Yes, Beautiful, without either.” “Lend me one--up here, please--the left one.” He gave her the hand, much puzzled. Slipping from his finger the little circlet of gold, she placed it on her own, in silence. And in silence her cheek lay again on his breast. “Billee,” he whispered, in awe, “Billee!” Then she lifted herself a little and Father Ocean, with a deep intake of breath, lifted her a little more. Only her finger tips touched his shoulders; her body floated free. She hovered over him as Psyche over the sleeping god, her lips, one moment, on his: “Just sweethearts,” she whispered, and was gone. King never forgot the picture that followed. Try as he might, he could not overtake her. Into and out of the waves, over and under, she fled, a moonbeam, a silver fish. Once, for a single, marvelous moment, she sprung half out of the foam crest of a giant roller, her face turned back, her fallen hair strewn around it. A hand was lifted, beckoning. Then, a white flash, and down the slope beyond she vanished. “The ideal!” he murmured, “the ideal!” He followed. He had been following all his life. CHAPTER VIII Now that Fate had gotten her stride, things moved fast. King was in the office of Mr. Church checking up some plans, when the great banker, Throckmorton, was ushered in by Mr. Beeker in person. He did not look up. He was more than a little sore that so long a time should have elapsed since his plans went into the banker’s hands without a decision having been arrived at. So much depended on those plans. Mr. Throckmorton’s visit was an event of note. He usually sent for the men he wanted to see; he did not visit. Mr. Church was on his feet instantly. The visitor did not take the proffered seat but began with bluff geniality: “So, it was you, Mr. Church, who designed our memorial window! Mrs. Vandilever was my sister, you know--I am glad to meet you in person. I want to consult with reference to some changes in the Vandilever residence and the possible use of certain features of the window. Those little faces--” “That was one of the firm’s designs, Mr. Throckmorton”--King’s presence had forced his hand--“I can’t claim the credit. Individuals don’t count here. It’s the old newspaper ‘we,’ you know.” “But I want to consult the actual artist--the creator--for a special reason, if you don’t mind.” “Certainly, sir. Oh, Mr. Dubignon, you originated the general idea in the Vandilever window, did you not?” Mr. Church turned with a show of indifference to the draughtsman, who now looked up, a slight smile on his lips. “Yes,” he said, “and the details, also, if I remember right.”