"You are," said Lola gravely, "the very queerest person I have ever met. If you are anxious to study mental phenomena you might buy yourself a looking-glass. I must confess that I can't understand you at all." "Since we seem to have met upon a rather unusual attitude of frankness," he responded mildly, "I am going to return the compliment. Our impressions seem to have been identical." He turned as if to leave, but after a slight hesitation he faced her, and said in a more serious tone, "My offer of assistance was sincere; should you be in need of anything that is in my power to grant you, surely my age should make it easy for you to come to me." He bowed rather stiffly, like a man to whom social conventions are a habit rather than a pleasure, and left her there, sitting on the sand, looking after him a little anxiously. "He was a queer old man," she thought; "there could be no doubt of that," and she wondered just what he had meant when he confessed that he could not understand her. She watched him as he joined the child, and until they and the little dog disappeared together around a rocky point she sat there, thinking of the strange look of speculation she had seen on his face. "Miss Barnhelm!" She looked up quickly at the sound of the voice and saw the young life-guard standing beside her. "Why did you follow me?" she demanded angrily. "I might have known I couldn't trust you." "I saw that you were alone," he stammered, very much upset by her tone. "I--I had to see you." "Why?" "Why!" He looked at her amazed. "Why? Do you think a man can forget--just in a few hours--forget you? I never knew that there were women like you in the world. I--I wouldn't have dared to raise my eyes to you--but--but you came to me--yourself!" "The woman tempted me, and I did fall," she sneered. "I suppose that is what you mean?" "I mean, Miss Barnhelm, that I love you! I am not fool enough to dream that you could care enough for a man like me to let me make any difference in your life, but I can't let you go away from me like this!" "My poor boy," she spoke kindly, and looked at him with something very like sadness in her eyes, "you are making a mistake. We met yesterday in your boat. We walked together for a moment in the evening; that is all." "And--and last night?" "Was a dream." "No!" "Just a dream, and dreams don't last. You must go now, quickly, please, because I see Mr. Fenway coming." "Go and leave you to him!" "Yes." He did not answer, but he had not the least idea of going; she saw that in the same glance that showed her that Dick had seen them together and had quickened his pace. She must not let these two men meet; there was danger in that; this young man must be made to go, and in less than a minute. She looked up at him, flashing one look straight into his eyes. "Go now," she said, almost in a whisper, "and wait for me--to-night."