Ellaline gave a little shriek. "Oh, where did you spring from?" she said, half raising herself. "Not from the clouds," he said. "Of course not. I was _not_ thinking of the gods," said Ellaline. He laughed. "I am not even a Perseus," he said, "for the tide though coming in is not yet dangerous enough to be likened to the sea-monster, though you might very well pass for Andromeda." Ellaline blushed and rose to her feet, adjusting a wrap round her shoulders. "I do not know," she said with dignity, "what I have done to encourage such a comparison." John Beveridge saw he had slipped. This time there was not even a stinging bush to cling to. "You are beautiful, that is all I meant," he said apologetically. "Is it worth while saying such commonplace things?" she said a little mollified. It was an ambiguous remark. From her it could only mean that he had been guilty of compliment. "I am very sorry. A thousand pardons. But, pray, do not let me drive you away. You seemed so happy here. I will go back." He made a half turn. "Yes, I was happy," she said simply. "In my foolish little way I thought I had discovered this spot--as if anything so beautiful could have escaped the attention of those who have been near it all their lives." Her words caused him a sudden pang of anxious jealousy. Must they not be true of herself? "And you, too, seemed to have discovered it," she went on. "Doubtless you know all the coast well, for you were here before me. Do you know," she said, looking up at his face with her candid gray eyes, "this is the first time in my life I have seen the sea, so you must not laugh if I seem ignorant, but oh! how I love to lie and hear it roar, tossing its mane like some great wild animal that I have tamed and that will not harm me." "There are other wild animals that you may tame, here by the sea," he said. She considered for a moment gravely. "That is rather pretty," she announced. "I shall re-remember that. But please do not tell me again I am beautiful." She sat down on the sand, with her back to the cliff, re-adjusting her parasol. "Very well. I sit reproved," he replied, taking up his position by her side. "What book is that you are reading?" She handed him the little paper-covered, airily-printed volume, suggesting summer in every leaf. "Ah, it is _The Cherub That Sits Up Aloft_!" he said, with a shade of superciliousness blent with amusement. "Yes, have you read it?" she asked. "No," he said, "I have heard of it. It's by that new woman who came out last year and calls herself Andrew Dibdin, isn't it?" "Yes," said Ellaline. "It's made an enormous hit, don't you know." "Oh, yes, I know," he said, laughing. "It's a lot of sentimental rot, isn't it? Do you like it?" "I think it is sweetly pretty," she said, a teardrop of vexation gathering on her eyelid. "If you haven't read it, why should you abuse it?"