She was dressed in a short blue skirt, with a soft cream-coloured shirt, open at the neck. From under a red tam-o'-shanter her dark brown hair hung down her back in two long plaits, reaching just below her waist. As for her face--well, I always think a beautiful face is the most difficult thing to describe in the world, but if you can picture a Madonna turned wood nymph, and delightfully sunburned at that, you'll be somewhere around the mark. For a moment her grey eyes contemplated me with calm surprise; then her gaze travelled to Rufus, who promptly sat up and wagged his tail. "That," I explained, "is his manner of apologizing." She turned back to me, and her lips parted in a frank smile. "I expect," she said, "that I ought to be apologizing instead. This is not my island, as--as you probably know." "It certainly isn't mine," I returned, "and you were here first." "Very well," she said. "I'll accept the apology. After all, you've made me break a plate." "Your nerves must be splendid," I said. "I should have broken a whole dinner-service." She laughed cheerfully. "It was silly of me to be startled, but somehow or other one doesn't expect afternoon visitors here." Then she paused. "I don't know whether you are a friend of the owner of the island," she added. "Indeed, I'm afraid I don't even know who he is." "His name," I said, "is George. We are slightly acquainted." "And did he build this hut?" "No," I said proudly; "I did that." She looked a little embarrassed. "I really must apologize then," she said. "I'm afraid I've been making free with your property in the most unpardonable manner. I thought it was a kind of desert island." "So it was," I said, "before you came--a most hopeless desert." Then I hesitated. "If you won't think me inquisitive," I went on, "may I ask how you managed to get here?" She smiled. "The same way that you did, I expect. My boat's round the bend there behind the trees." She pointed away to the left towards the small bay which formed the island's other anchorage. "It's only a three-tonner though," she added regretfully. I looked at her with some interest. "Are you accustomed to roam about the high sea single-handed in a three-ton boat?" I inquired. "Oh, yes," she said. "Why not? After all, they are the easiest to handle." "They are certainly the easiest to get drowned in," I replied. She shrugged her shoulders. "One must take what one can get in this world. It's not my boat, you see. I only----" She was interrupted by a violent hissing from the fire, which temporarily disappeared in a cloud of steam. "Oh, dear!" she cried, in dismay. "There's the kettle boiled over. You'll excuse me a minute while I make tea, won't you?" She dived into the hut, reappearing almost immediately with a brown earthenware teapot in her hand. "You'll have a cup?" she asked, pausing for a moment on her way to the fire. "There ought to be enough for two, unless it's all boiled away."