'The Atlantic is a wide ocean, and generally very rough, I have heard,' said she, with a queer look at my face. 'Oh!' cried I involuntarily. 'Have they crossed?' She burst out laughing. 'You're fairly caught!' she said. 'Am I supposed to know who "they" are?' Then of course I had to let on. I could see Miss Evesham knew all about it, though she did not say much, being more inclined to laugh; I'm sure I don't know why. The Pomeroys had gone to Torquay, but she either could not or would not tell me their address, or how long they were going to stay, or where they were going next. 'Torquay is a big place,' I said, discouraged, 'all hotels and lodgings. How the deuce shall I find them?' 'Oh,' she replied coolly, 'people generally find what they want very much--if they are really in earnest.' With that she nodded me good night, still laughing. I did not see her again, for of course I made an early morning start for Torquay next day. And the devil of a hunt I had, when I got there! What silly idiots women are! (Of course I mean Miss Evesham.) There are about one hundred hotels, three hundred boarding-houses, and one thousand furnished apartments in Torquay, and search as I might, I could not find the Pomeroys' name on any of their lists, or discover a trace of them anywhere. It was a broiling hot day, the sun beat down without mercy, and the glare beat up from the beastly white roads and pavements till I was nearly blind. I was never so nearly used up in my life as at the end of that day, and it was not only with bodily fatigue, but with utter and most cruel disappointment; for I was convinced that the Pomeroys had left Torquay, and that, like an utter fool, I had missed my only chance of being happy with a woman. At last between six and seven of the evening, I found myself sitting on the edge of a little sort of wood, below a garden overhanging the sea. The trees were cut away, here and there, to show the view, and to the right you looked along the coast and saw some red rocks and a green headland jutting out into the water. It was sunset; I was watching a little yawl in fall sail slipping round the headland, and when it was out of sight, I looked at the headland itself. There was one figure on the piece of green downs at the top,--a tall, slight figure, a woman's, all in white, with a red parasol. My heart jumped into my throat. I knew it was Virginia. There was a piece of white scarf or veil floating out behind her as she walked, and there is no woman in the world but Virginia who stands like that or wears a scarf like that!--O Virginia, so dear and so distant, how, how could I reach her, not having the wings of a bird? Long before I could get there she would be gone,--lost again in that howling wilderness of hotels and lodging-houses. A man came along the path where I was standing. 'How do you get to that place?' I inquired, pointing to the headland, 'and what is it called?'