“Life’s so much more surprising when you don’t know where you’re going. That’s what you said, King Arthur. We don’t know where we’re going--we’re both too young. It’s silly to pretend we do. Let’s agree to be immensely kind to each other. Don’t let’s try to be anything closer as yet. If we do--” She wriggled her shoulders; the little curl trembled violently. “I do hate quarreling.--Hulloa! There’s the sea. We’ll be there in a second.” The taxi had halted in a line of automobiles. They were on a bare, sun-baked road. On every side salt-marshes stretched away, criss-crossed with ditches which drained into a muddy canal The canal crossed the road; the bridge was up to allow a fishing-boat passage. Over to the left a board-walk ran; behind it the sea flashed like a mirror. Straight ahead, in a straggling line of diminishing importance, hotels rose up. A little over to the right an encampment of match-box summer-cottages sweltered in the glare. Hoardings met the eyes wherever they turned, announcing the choicest places to lunch, to garage or to put up for the night in Long Beach. At no great distance a wooden cow, of more than lifelike proportions, gave a burlesque imitation of the rural, stooping its head as if to graze while its back advertised a brand of malted milk. The landscape would have been dreary enough without the people and the sun. But the people lent the touch of vivacity. The bright colors of women’s dresses stood out boldly in the strong, fluttering air. When seen distantly clumped together, they looked like a stage-garden, a-blow with artificial flowers. The men and women were for the most part in pairs and young--only the older people were in parties. Teddy had the sense that he had joined a carnival of irresponsible lovers. Probably all those men had their problems. And the girls--they, too, didn’t know where they were going. No one was indulging in the careful cowardice which takes thought for the morrow. They were leaving all future evil to take care of itself. They were finding to-day sufficient in its goodness; and of its goodness they intended to miss nothing. When he turned to Desire, he found her studying her face in a pocket-mirror and dabbing a film of powder on her impertinent little nose. He glanced away, thinking his watching would embarrass her. She spoke with a bewitching self-composure, still scrutinizing her reflection: “I could hear your brain ticking. I was right, wasn’t I? It’s best at first not to be too much to each other?” Her naive frankness in not attempting to hide her vanity, sent a wave of affection tingling through him. It was as though by one foolish act she had entrusted him with the key to her character--her unabashed truthfulness. He leant forward, brushing her shoulder intimately, and peered into the mirror from which her eyes watched him. “I’ve been an old serious,” he whispered tenderly. “But now I’ll be anything you choose. Let’s be just as kind as we know how.”