Yet, as if attracted by something, the girl lingered.

“It’s lovely down on the shore,” she said half shyly.

“No doubt,” said Durant, and again his tone was curt to churlishness.

Then abruptly he felt that he had been unnecessarily surly, and wondered if he was getting querulous.

“Been bathing?” he asked, with a brief glance at her wet hair.

She gave him a quick, friendly smile.

“Yes, sir,” she said; and added:  “Caesar and I.”

“Fond of the sea, eh?” said Durant.

The soft eyes shone, and the man, who had been a sailor, told himself that they were deep-sea eyes.

“I love it,” the girl said very earnestly.

Her intensity surprised him a little.  He had not expected it in one who, to judge by her dress, must be a child of the humble fisher-folk.  His interest began to awaken.

“You live near here?” he questioned.

She pointed a brown hand towards the sand-dunes.

“On the shore, sir,” she said.  “We hear the waves all night.”

“So do I,” said Durant, and his voice was suddenly sharp with a pain he could not try to silence.  “All night and all day.”

She did not seem to notice his tone.

“You live in the cottage on the cliff?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I came last week,” he said.  “I hadn’t seen the sea for nearly a year.  I wanted to be alone.  And—­so I am.”

“All alone?” she queried quickly.

He nodded again.

“With my servant,” he said.  He repeated with a certain doggedness:  “I wanted to be alone.”

There was a pause.  The girl was standing in the doorway.  Her dog was basking in the sunshine not a yard away.  She looked at the cripple with thoughtful eyes.

“I live alone, too,” she said.  “That is—­Caesar and I.”

That successfully aroused Durant’s curiosity.

“You!” he said incredulously.

She put up her hand with a quick movement and pushed the short curls back from her forehead.

“I am used to it,” she said, with an odd womanly dignity.  “I have been practically alone all my life.”

Durant looked at her closely.  She spoke in a very low voice, but there were rich notes in it that caught his attention.

“Isn’t that very unusual for a girl of your age?” he said.

She smiled again without answering.  A blue sunbonnet dangled on her arm.  In the silence that followed she put it on.  The great dog arose at the action, stretched himself, and went to her side.  She laid her hand on his head.

“We play hide-and-seek, Caesar and I,” she said, “among the dunes.”

Durant took his crutches and stumbled with difficulty to his feet.  The lower part of his body was terribly crippled and weak.  Only the broad shoulders of the man testified to the splendid strength that had once been his, and could never be his again as long as he lived.  He saw the girl turn her head aside as he moved.  The sunbonnet completely hid her face.  A sharp spasm of pain set his own like a stone mask.