“I believe, though I don’t know, that Keturah Hawkins proposed to John Hawkins,” she went on. “John was a speechless sort of man all his life. I’m sure he never brought himself to utter any such words as: ‘Will you marry me?’ They would have choked him. I suspect that at the proper time Keturah began calmly to talk about plans for the house I live in, progressing by easy stages to such matters as the date of the wedding and the clothes he would need, down to his underwear, winter weight. “They say the way to resume is to resume, but often the way to begin is to resume, too. Each night that John called, Keturah resumed the subject she had not discussed the night before; and so they were married and lived happily ever after.” Mermaid, reduced to laughter by this narration, said: “Well, to resume what we were not talking about just now, I shall go East day after to-morrow if you are willing. I will bring Guy out here and then I can see you home. You ought not to travel alone.” “Don’t think you are going away and leave me in this place 3,000 miles from Blue Port, missy!” exclaimed her aunt. “I won’t stay here. Besides, Dick Hand is cross as a catamount since you told him for the last time that----” Mrs. Hand broke off the sentence as she might have bitten off a thread of unnecessary length. She looked at her niece and sighed. “You are a fine woman, my dear,” she said. “Come here and kiss me. You don’t have to put your mind on it. Just a dutiful kiss will do.” Mermaid kissed her with undutiful violence. IX They met, the two, on the beach, on a long sweep of the ocean shore where snipe were running at the edge of the lacy waves but where there was no other human being within sight or sound of them. They had met, you may say, before--at the Lone Cove Coast Guard Station, for instance, where Mermaid had kissed her father and shaken hands with everybody, including the one or two surviving honorary uncles of her childhood. They had sat them down at the long table over which Cap’n Smiley still presided, encouraging the art of conversation as one of those social amenities that marked the civilized man. They had eaten heartily of simple and appetizing fare, had joked, laughed, told stories. Mermaid had been delighted at the physical transformation in Guy. He was broader shouldered, or certainly seemed so, and was obviously heavier, “filled out,” as her father put it. The colour in his cheeks was a thing to wonder at; so was the calm of his eyes. They were still those wild-animal eyes, but the look in them was that of a creature at peace with the world and, for the rest, unafraid. He was, except for the fact of a somewhat wider education, one of them. But that had not been a meeting. This was their meeting, here on the smooth and endless stretch of hard-packed sand at the ocean’s edge.