"Don't then," she said, smiling. "Let's stop just as we are. It will be much jollier if we know nothing about each other, and Rufus can't betray us then, even if he wants to." "But we've christened you already," I objected. "We've decided that you must be Astarte. I think she was the lady who came out of the sea foam, wasn't she?" Astarte made me a little mocking bow. "You pay compliments very prettily," she said. "I shall call you Stephen." "Why Stephen?" I inquired. She jumped up smiling, and brushed some crumbs from her skirt. "You're shockingly ignorant of English history. Don't you remember that Stephen followed Rufus?" I shook my head. "Your wisdom leaves me breathless," I said. "I can't go further back than Victoria myself." She laughed. "Well, if I didn't know that, I shouldn't be much----" Then she suddenly stopped. "You wouldn't be much what?" I asked. "Never mind," she said. "Let's put these things away, and then I'll take you down and show you the _Penguin_. I'd like to know what you think of her." * * * * * * * To describe the next few days would be rather like trying to recapture some strange, delightful dream after one has woken up. I only know that the time hurried away at that absurd and unnecessary pace which Providence seems to reserve for the more charming moments of life. Of course, our surroundings were not unfavourable to romance; but, apart from that, Astarte was one of those fragrant people who have the power of throwing a kind of happy glamour over everything. Underneath all her self-possession and efficiency she had the heart of a frank and joyous child. I shall never forget her delight when she helped me unpack Harrods' hamper on the first morning, and dragged out the various delicacies those thoughtful gentlemen had provided me with. "Well, you're the sort of person I like to be asked to breakfast by," she laughed, dumping them down one after another. "A tongue, cold chicken, _paté de foie gras_, champagne, cigars. Oh, Stephen, you are greedy! Do you always look after yourself like this when you go exploring?" "I lived for a month once on dried apricots and snow," I returned; "but I don't do that sort of thing from choice. Besides," I added recklessly, "I had a sort of feeling I was going to meet you." She held up a reproving finger. "You're not ashore now," she said, smiling; "and no sailor should tell fibs at sea." "Have you been reading Kipling's Brass-bound Man?" I asked. "No," she said simply. "My father told me that." And this, I think, was the only occasion in all the three days in which she volunteered any information about herself or her life apart from Kerrin Island. It must be admitted that we had plenty of time for exchanging confidences had we wished to, Our day started at about 9 A.M., when, after an early morning dip, Rufus and I would pull off to the shore in the dinghy and meet Astarte, who had walked over from the hut.