The three big automobiles had deserted the city streets, and were spinning swiftly along the hard dirt road. Suddenly they swerved and began climbing a slope. “Our home is quite a distance from the town,” Miss Lydecker remarked, as the machines glided between high iron gates and came to a stop before a big white house. “But it makes it all the more enjoyable.” Klein helped her out of the motor car. The others, laughing and chattering, hurried indoors. Miss Lydecker motioned him to the far end of the long porch. “Look!” She stretched out a hand. “Isn’t that wonderful? I often sit here for hours.” Far below, in the soft, white moonlight, spread the great Atlantic. The booming of the surf came faintly to Klein’s ears; the humid tang of salt air crept to his nostrils and misted against his cheeks. “It is wonderful,” he murmured. Then, after a pause, he added: “This is my first real glimpse of the Atlantic.” “You’re from inland, then?” she asked. He shook his head. “No. California claims me. I belong to that sect of egotists known as Native Sons. We are not supposed to hear, feel, or see, once we have stepped across our State line. Naturally, under these conditions, I am of the opinion that there is no ocean except the Pacific.” The girl smiled and tossed her head. “Will you always hold that opinion, Mr. Klein?” “I don’t know,” he reluctantly confessed. “I—I believe I am already weakening.” From one end of the porch ran a narrow footbridge, spanning the lower lawn and ending at a high cliff. Miss Lydecker, noticing Klein’s interest in this, hastened to explain. “Daddy has built a summerhouse on the very edge of that cliff. Would you care to go out? We call it Eagle’s Nest.” They ventured out, the girl leading the way. Reaching the cliff, the two stood for a minute in silence, gazing down upon the sea. Only a narrow rail, breast-high, was between them and a sheer drop of a hundred feet. “Don’t lean too far over the rail,” the girl warned him, half jesting. “One of our men fell here a few years ago.” She shuddered. “I wouldn’t come near the Nest for months afterward.” Suddenly, above the steady throb of the surf, there came the first sounds of a distant orchestra. “There!” exclaimed Miss Lydecker; “the first dance! And we’re missing it.” They ran along the footbridge and across the broad porch toward the big door. Just as they were about to enter, Miss Lydecker stopped short, and a cry came from her lips. “What is the matter?” Klein asked anxiously. “Right there!” She pointed a finger. “What?” “A man! I saw him slipping along—near those bushes!” Without another word Klein leaped from the porch and gained the high hedge that ran parallel to the pebbled roadway. He searched both sides for a dozen yards, finally giving up the hunt and rejoining the girl. “It must have been a ghost,” he told her laughingly.