“How do you know I’m not?” His tones were teasing, but into his eyes had leaped a sudden purposeful gleam which told a different story. “Moonlight affects different persons in different ways. Wait till we take to the launch. Then I’ll turn moony and sing sentimental songs. I’ll give you a fine imitation of a moonstruck nut. I wouldn’t dare try it on shore. I might be run in for disturbing the peace.” “Run in for disturbing the peace?” inquired a horrified voice at Marjorie’s elbow. Danny Seabrooke peered apprehensively around Marjorie at Hal. “Ah, I understand.” He grew apologetic. “You weren’t speaking of me. You meant your—well—er—” Danny drew down his freckled face very sorrowfully. “When did it happen, Macy?” “It hasn’t happened yet, but it will soon,” Hal promised with cool significance. “I shan’t be here to see it. I’m going to take a walk up the beach with Geraldine.” Danny hastily fell behind a few steps and took Jerry by a plump arm. “Come along,” he urged. “It’s not safe around here.” “It’s safe enough for me.” Jerry briskly shook off Danny’s detaining hand. “I’m going out in the Oriole. Hurry up, you sentimental strollers,” she called over one shoulder to Constance and Laurie. They had paused for a moment, hand in hand, and were raptly gazing out to sea. “Come out of lovers’ lane and join the crowd.” “Have a little more regard for our married dignity, Jeremiah,” Laurie reminded. “Kindly remember that Connie and I came down to the beach this evening solely to look after you four children.” “Much obliged, but Dan-yell is the only one who needs a guardian of this illustrious bunch.” Jerry bowed ironical thanks. “All right for you, Jurry-miar Macy. I tried to be pleasant with you. I respectfully called you Geraldine. But no more!” Danny shook a displeased finger at Jerry. “I’m going to walk beside Constance.” “Poor Connie,” groaned Jerry. “Fortunate Connie, you mean,” corrected Danny with a vast smile. “Do talk to me, Constance. Forget your husband for five seconds. You look so sympathetic. But you’re not.” Danny fixed an accusing glance on laughing Constance. “You’re laughing at me.” “Why shouldn’t I laugh at you, Danny Seabrooke? You’re so funny and foolish.” “Funny and foolish.” Danny cocked his head on one side and considered. “Nope, that’s not sympathy. I’ll have to try again. Let me see. Marjorie might appreciate me.” With a forward dive he caught Marjorie by one arm and began walking her rapidly up the beach and away from Hal. “Good-night, Mr. Macy,” he flung back over one shoulder. “Not yet,” Hal cleared the widening space between him and Danny almost at a leap. “Now Dan-yell!” He grabbed Danny by the shoulders; spun him round until he faced down the beach. A vigorous push from Hal’s avenging arms sent Danny careering down the beach at a mad gallop.