The oars apparently were not the only things hidden at the moment from mortal ken. Claude Kennilworth and Ego still persisted quite brutally in withholding their charms from us. Rollins had retreated to the sacristy of his own room to complete his convalescence. And even Allan John seemed to have wandered for the time being beyond the call of either voice or luncheon bell. Allan John's deflection worried the May Girl a little I think, but not unduly. It didn't worry the men at all. "When a chap wants to be alone he wants to be alone!" explained Paul Brenswick with unassailable conciseness. "It's a darned good sign," agreed my Husband, "that he's ready to be alone! It's the first time, isn't it?" "Yes, that's all right, of course," conceded the May Girl amiably, "if you're quite sure that he was dressed right for it." "Maybe a hike on the beach at just this moment, whether he's dressed right for it or not," asserted George Keets, "is just the one thing the poor devil needs to sweep the last cobweb out of his brain." "I agree with you perfectly," said Victoria Brenswick. It was really astonishing in a single morning how many things George Keets and the Bride had discovered that they agreed on perfectly. It teased the Bridegroom a little I think. But anyone could have seen that it actually puzzled the Bride. And women, when they are puzzled, I've noticed, are pretty apt to insist upon tracing the puzzle to its source. So that when George Keets suggested a further exploration of the dunes as the most plausible diversion for the afternoon, it wouldn't have surprised me at all if Victoria Brenswick had not only acquiesced in the suggestion for herself and her Bridegroom but exacted its immediate fulfillment. She did not, however. Quite peremptorily, in fact, she announced instead her own and her Bridegroom's unalterable intent to remain at home in the big warm library by the apple-wood fire. It was the May Girl who insisted on forging forth alone with George Keets into the storm. "Why, I shall perish," dimpled the May Girl, "if I don't get some more exercise to-day!--Weather like this--why--why it's so glorious!" she thrilled. "So maddeningly glorious!--I--I wish I was a seagull so I could breast right off into the foam and blast of it! I wish--I wish----!" But what page is long enough to record the wishes of Eighteen? My Husband evidently had no wish in the world except to pursue the cataloging of shells in Rollins's crafty company. Ann Woltor confessed quite frankly that her whole human interest in the afternoon centred solely on the matter of sleep. Hyacinths, of course, are my own unfailing diversion. Tracking me just a little bit self-consciously to my hyacinth lair, the Bride seemed rather inclined to dally a moment, I noticed, before returning to her Bridegroom and the library fire. Her eyes were very interesting. What bride's are not? Particularly that Bride whose intellect parallels even her emotions.