“It takes us down farther,” he said, “and there are bushes to hold on to after we get there. Come on, Helen! Brace up now, be a sport!” She was trying her best to obey orders, but being a sport was no slight undertaking under the circumstances. When they reached the clump of bushes her guide ordered her to rest. “Just stop and catch your breath,” he said. “The rest is going to be easier, I think. And we haven't so very far to go.” He was too optimistic. It was anything but easy; in fact, the last thirty feet was almost a tumble, owing to the clay giving way beneath their feet. But there was soft sand to tumble into and they reached the beach safe, though in a dishevelled, scratched and thoroughly smeared condition. Then Helen sat down and covered her face with her hands. Her rescuer gazed triumphantly up at the distant rim of broken sod and grinned. “There, by George!” he exclaimed. “We did it, didn't we? Say, that was fun!” She removed her hands and looked at him. “WHAT did you say it was?” she faltered. “I said it was fun. It was great! Like something out of a book, eh?” She began to laugh hysterically. He turned to her in indignant surprise. “What are you laughing at?” he demanded. “Oh--oh, don't, please! Just let me laugh. If I don't laugh I shall cry, and I don't want to do that. Just don't talk to me for a few minutes, that's all.” When the few minutes were over she rose to her feet. “Now we must get back to the pavilion, I suppose,” she said. “My, but we are sights, though! Do let's see if we can't make ourselves a little more presentable.” She did her best to wipe off the thickest of the clay smears with her handkerchief, but the experiment was rather a failure. As they started to walk back along the beach she suddenly turned to him and said: “I haven't told you how--how much obliged I am for--for what you did. If you hadn't come, I don't know what would have happened to me.” “Oh, that's all right,” he answered lightly. He was reveling in the dramatic qualities of the situation. She did not speak again for some time and he, too, walked on in silence enjoying his day dream. Suddenly he became aware that she was looking at him steadily and with an odd expression on her face. “What is it?” he asked. “Why do you look at me that way?” Her answer was, as usual, direct and frank. “I was thinking about you,” she said. “I was thinking that I must have been mistaken, partly mistaken, at least.” “Mistaken? About me, do you mean?” “Yes; I had made up my mind that you were--well, one sort of fellow, and now I see that you are an entirely different sort. That is, you've shown that you can be different.” “What on earth do you mean by that?” “Why, I mean--I mean--Oh, I'm sure I had better not say it. You won't like it, and will think I had better mind my own affairs--which I should do, of course.” “Go on; say it.” She looked at him again, evidently deliberating whether or not to speak her thought. Then she said: