But absence and meetings of this sort told on them inescapably, and both being, unfortunately, of a rather high-strung intelligence and youth, recognized it, no matter how much consciousness might deny it, and wondered sometimes, rather pitiably, why they couldn't be always at one temperature, like lovers in poetry, and why either should ever worry or hurt the other when they loved. Any middle-aged person could and did tell them that they were now really learning something about love--omitting the small fact that Pain, though he comes with the highest literary recommendations is really not the wisest teacher of all in such matters--all of which helped the constant nervous and psychological strain on both as little as a Latin exorcism would help a fever. For the very reason that they wished to be true in their love, they said things in their letters that a spoken word or a gesture would have explained in an instant but that no printed alphabet could; and so they often hurt each other while meaning and trying to help all they could. Not quite as easy as it had seemed at first--oh, not on your life not, thought Oliver, rousing out of a gloomy muse. And then there was the writing he wanted to do--and Nancy's etching--“our damn careers” they had called them--but those _were_ the things they did best--and neither had had even tolerable working conditions recently-- Well, sufficient to the day was the evil thereof--that was one of those safe Bible-texts you seemed to find more and more use for the older you grew. Bible-texts. It was lucky tomorrow was Sunday when slaves of the alarm-clock had peace. Oliver straightened his shoulders unconsciously and turned back to the blank paper. He did love Nancy. He did love Nancy. That was all that counted. “Oh, felicitous Nancy! Your letter was--” VIII The water was a broken glass of blue, sunstruck waves--there were few swimmers in it where the two friends went in next morning, for the beach proper with its bath-houses and float was nearly a quarter of a mile down. Oliver could see Margaret's red cap bobbing twenty yards out as he tried the water cautiously with curling toes, and, much farther out, a blue cap and the flash of an arm going suddenly under. Mrs. Severance, the friend Louise had brought out for the week-end, he supposed; she swam remarkably for a woman. He swam well enough himself and couldn't give her two yards in the hundred. Ted stood beside him, both tingling a little at the fresh of the salt air. “Wow!” and they plunged. A mock race followed for twenty yards--then Oliver curved off to duck Margaret, already screaming and paddling at his approach, while Ted kept on.