"A flirtation?" scoffed Keets. "You? At ten o'clock in the morning? All trimmed up like an Easter bonnet! And acting half scared to death? It looks a bit fishy to me, not to say mysterious!" "All Husbands move in a mysterious way their flirtations to perform," observed my Husband. From one pair of half-laughing eyes to the other George Keets glanced up with the faintest possible suggestion of a sigh. "Really, you know," said George Keets, "there are times when even _I_ can imagine that marriage might be just a little bit jolly." "Oh never jolly," grinned my Husband, "but there are times I frankly admit--when it seems a heap more serious than it does at other times." "Less serious, you mean," corrected Keets. "More serious," grinned my Husband. "Oh, for goodness sake, let's stop talking about us," I protested, "and talk about the weather!" "It was the weather that I came to talk about," exclaimed George Keets. "Do you think it will clear to-day?" he questioned. For a single mocking instant my Husband's glance sought mine. "No, not to-day, George," he said. "U---m!" mused George Keets. "Then in that case," he brightened suddenly, "if Mrs. Delville is really willing to put up a water-proof lunch we think it would be rather good sport to go back to the cave and explore a bit more of the beach perhaps and bring home Heaven knows what fresh plunder from the shipwrecked trunk." "Oh, how jolly!" I agreed. "But will Mrs. Brenswick go?" "Mrs. Brenswick isn't exactly keen about it," admitted Keets. "But she says she'll go. And Brenswick himself and Miss Woltor and Allan John--" It was amusing how everybody called Allan John "Allan John" without title or subterfuge or self-consciousness of any kind. With their arms across each other's shoulders the Bride and Bridegroom came frolicking by on their way to the foot of the stairs. "Oh, Miss Davies!--Miss Davies!" they called up teasingly. "Are you willing that Allan John should go to the cave to-day?" Smiling responsively but not one atom teased, the May Girl jumped up from her tableful of shells and came out to the edge of the balustrade to consider the matter. "Allan John! Allan John!" she called. "Do you really want to go?" "Why, yes," admitted Allan John, "if everybody's going." Behind the May Girl's looming height and loveliness the little squat figure of Rollins shadowed suddenly. "Miss Davies and I are not going," said Rollins. "Not--going?" questioned the May Girl. "Not going," chuckled Rollins, "unless she walks with me!" He didn't say "arm-in-arm." He didn't need to. That inference was entirely expressed by the absurdly triumphant little glint in his eye. I don't think the May Girl intended to laugh. But she did laugh. And all the laugh in the world seemed suddenly "on" Rollins. "No--really, People," rallied the May Girl, "I'd heaps rather stay here with Mr. Rollins and work on these perfectly darling shells. One--on one side of the table--and one on the other."