Robbed of her occupation, Miss Maitland sat on the sands alone and read a book; while Pamela, with the aid of Maggie, the coloured nurse, bathed and put to bed two very weary and rather fretful little people, tired out with the excitement of the day, with a surfeit of undiluted sunlight, and strong salt air. They had rebelled at going to bed. The boy had howled his hardest when he was forcibly removed from the beach. They had been naughty over tea, and cross at being undressed. Pamela had to be coaxed into saying her prayers. But eventually they were put into bed, and within five minutes of being there were sleeping soundly. Arnott came in when they were asleep, and expressed surprise at finding Pamela there. She raised a cautious finger. "Why don't you let Miss Maitland do this?" he asked. "Because I like to do it myself," she replied in an undertone. "Aren't you coming out?" "No." He left the room quietly, and strolled down to the beach. The sun had set, and the turquoise of the sea had deepened; its waves no longer shone with glancing lights. The long stretch of white sand was almost deserted; one or two people loitered on it, and down by the water's edge, watching the incoming tide, the solitary figure of a girl in a blue linen frock lent an unexpected touch of harmonious colour against the silvery background of sand. Arnott's glance fell on the girl, and, his interest quickening at sight of her, he hastened his steps. She looked up at his approach, flushed warmly, and made a movement as if to rise. He stayed her. "Don't move," he said, and dropped on the sands beside her. "You looked deliciously lazy. What were you pondering over when I interrupted that deep train of thought?" She had been thinking about him, but she did not say so. She kept her gaze fixed on the long waves, rolling in in ceaseless regularity and sweeping lazily up the beach, as she answered: "I was thinking how beautiful it is here." "So you like Muizenberg?" he said. "I hoped you would. Doesn't the sea look jolly?" "I'm afraid of the sea," she said slowly. He was watching her intently, admiring the rich colour under her skin, and the way in which the little tendrils of dark hair curled over the small ears, admiring too the long line of her shoulder, and the soft contour of the partly averted face. At her admission he suddenly smiled. "So I heard," he replied. "You must get better acquainted with it, and then you will lose your fear. I brought the gown along in my suit case. We will christen it to-morrow." "No," she said, startled, and flashed a quick, almost terrified look at him. There was a strong appeal in her tones. "I don't wish to bathe-- really." "Not to please me--Blanche?" he said, and dropped on his elbow on the sand and possessed himself of her hand. "Oh, don't!" she cried. "Some one will see us."