"You haven't been to the Beach Club yet, have you, Hamil? I'll get you a card if you like." Cecile, furious, turned her back and went head first into the sea. "Come on," said Hamil briefly, and followed her. Malcourt took to the water leisurely, going out of his way to jeer at and splash Portlaw, who was labouring like a grampus inshore; then he circled within observation distance of several pretty girls, displayed his qualities as a swimmer for their benefit, and finally struck out shoreward. When he emerged from the surf he looked about for Shiela. She was already half-way to the beach, walking with Cecile and Hamil toward the pavilion; and, starting across the shallows to overtake her, he suddenly came face to face with Virginia Suydam. She was moving hip-deep out through the seething tide, slim, graceful, a slight flush tinting the usual delicate pallor of her cheeks. Gussie Vetchen bobbed nimbly about in the vicinity, very busy trying to look at everybody and keep his balance at the same time. Miss Palliser was talking to Cuyp. As Malcourt waded past, he and Miss Suydam exchanged a pleasantly formal greeting; and, for the second time, something in her casual gaze--the steadiness of her pretty green-tinted eyes, perhaps--perhaps their singular colour--interested him. "You did not ask _me_ to your luncheon," he said gaily, as he passed her through the foam. "No, only petticoats, Mr. Malcourt. I am sorry that your--fiancee isn't coming." He halted, perfectly aware of the deliberate and insolent indiscretion of her reply. Every line of her supple figure accented the listless, disdainful intention. As he remained motionless she turned, bent gracefully and laid her palms flat on the surface of the water, then looked idly over her shoulder at him. He waded back close to her, she watching him advance without apparent interest--but watching him nevertheless. "Have you heard that anybody and myself are supposed to be engaged?" he asked. "No," she replied coolly; "have you?" A dark flush mantled his face and he choked. For a moment they stood so; her brows were raised a trifle. "Well?" she asked at last. "Have I made you _very_ angry, Mr. Malcourt?" She waded out a step or two toward the surf, facing it. The rollers breaking just beyond made her foothold precarious; twice she nearly lost her balance; the third time he caught her hand to steady her and held it as they faced the surges, swaying together. She did not look again at him. They stood for a while unsteadily, her hand in his grasp. "Why on earth did you say such a thing to me?" he asked. "I don't--know," she said simply; "I really don't, Mr. Malcourt." And it was true; for their slight acquaintance warranted neither badinage nor effrontery; and she did not understand the sudden impulse toward provocation, unless it might be her contempt for Shiela Cardross. And that was the doing of Mrs. Van Dieman.