He did not say anything as he gradually recovered himself. The two sat beside each other on the empty beach. Mermaid, shivering, had thrown sweaters about herself and Guy. At length young Vanton turned and looked in her eyes with the curious, shy, wild-animal look that everyone noticed in his own. At the same time he seized her hand. “Mermaid, you saved my life--_my_ life.” He spoke in wonder, as if there were something inexplicable about it. Mermaid smiled at him, white and tired and anxious. “You’re all right, Guy?” His fingers tightened on her hand. There was something steady in the fire of his look. “I owe you so much,” he said, brokenly. “Almost everything. You were my first friend. Five years ago. I--I’ve never been able to make it up to you, and now I never shall. I’ve--I’ve loved you all this time. I--won’t you let me kiss you?” The last words were perhaps laughable, but something that was not a drop of salt water from his black hair rolled down his cheek. Mermaid’s own eyes glistened. “Of course--this once, Guy,” she murmured. His lips brushed her wet cheek. She rose to her feet a little unsteadily and reaching down her arm half pulled him to his. “They’ll be frightened if we don’t get back soon,” she explained. “You--you mustn’t put your arm about me, Guy. Can you walk all right? See here, I’ll put my arm about you.” She was matter-of-fact. They went unhurriedly along the shore to where a boardwalk at the edge of the dunes led to the house Captain Vanton had rented for the summer. There they parted, with the appearance of unconcern. Keturah Hand met Mermaid at the door of their cottage. “Child, is it necessary for you to hug that Vanton boy publicly?” she inquired. Mermaid explained. “How did you bring him to?” asked her aunt. “I kissed him. Now, Aunt Keturah, it’s all right. There was nobody around and he doesn’t know.” XVI Tommy Lupton was a great, tall, strapping youth with everything indeterminate about him, from the colour of his hair and eyes to his behaviour. He had no visible ambitions beyond becoming a bayman like his father and ultimately a surfman in one of the Coast Guard Stations on the beach, preferably the one at Lone Cove where John Smiley was keeper and his father a member of the crew. Since the day, some years earlier, when Guy Vanton had thrown Tommy around in a pine-needled clearing in the woods about Blue Port, Tommy and Guy had been good friends, so far as too utterly unlike young men can be fast friends. Neither fully understood the other. Mermaid, who liked them both, had constantly to be explaining Guy to Tommy and interpreting Tommy to Guy. “Tommy likes you but thinks he ought not to,” she told Guy. “Tommy is the sort of boy that thinks he ought not to like anybody unless he can admire him, too. If Tommy’s best friend were running against--oh, well, say Colonel Roosevelt--for some office, Tommy would vote for Roosevelt. You see, he’d _admire_ Roosevelt.” “It’s a principle,” elucidated Guy.