“It’s a long story.” “We have all afternoon.” “That’s it—we haven’t all eternity.” “Oh, eternity,” said Crystal, dismissing it with the Cord wave of the hand. “Who wants eternity? ‘Since we must die how bright the starry track,’ you know.” “No; what is that?” “I don’t remember.” “Oh.” After this meeting of minds they drove for some time in silence. Ben was seeing a new aspect of Newport—bare, rugged country, sandy roads, a sudden high rock jutting out toward the sea, a rock on which tradition asserts that Bishop Berkeley once sat and considered the illusion of matter. They stopped at length at the edge of a sandy beach. Crystal parked her car neatly with a sharp turn of the wheel, and got out. “There’s a tea basket,” she called over her shoulder. Ben’s heart bounded at the news—not that he was hungry, but as the hour was now but little past half after two a tea basket indicated a prolonged interview. He found it tucked away in the back of the car, and followed her. They sat down at the edge of the foam. He lit a pipe, clasped his hands about his knees and stared out to sea; she curled her feet backward, grasped an ankle in her hand, and, looking at him, said: “Now what makes you groan so?” “I haven’t meant to be dishonest,” he said, “but I have been obtaining your friendship—trying to—under false pretenses.” “Trying to?” said Crystal. “Now isn’t it silly to put that in.” He turned and smiled at her. She was really incredibly sweet. “But, all the same,” he went on, “there is a barrier, a real, tangible barrier between us.” Crystal’s heart suffered a chill convulsion at these words. “Good gracious!” she thought. “He’s entangled with another woman—oh dear!—_marriage_”—But she did not interrupt him, and he continued: “I let you think that I was one of the men you might have known—that I was asked to your party last night, whereas, as a matter of fact, I only watched you—” Crystal’s mind, working with its normal rapidity, invented, faced, and passed over the fact that he must have been one of the musicians. She said aloud: “I think I ought to tell you that I’m not much of a believer in barriers—between sensible people who want friendship.” “Friendship!” exclaimed Ben, as if that were the last thing he had come out on a lovely summer afternoon to discuss. “There aren’t any real barriers any more,” Crystal continued. “Differences of position, and religion, and all those things don’t seem to matter now. Romeo and Juliet wouldn’t have paid any attention to the little family disagreement if they had lived to-day.” “In the case of Romeo and Juliet, if I remember correctly,” said Ben, “it was not exactly a question of friendship.”