fast for one who has a sense of beauty, when there are pretty children in a pool and a young Diana on the edge, to receive with wonder anything you can catch!  Ashurst never had much sense of time.  It was a shock when, pulling out his watch, he saw it was well past three.  No cashing his cheque to-day-the bank would be closed before he could get there.  Watching his expression, the little girls cried out at once: 

“Hurrah!  Now you’ll have to stay!”

Ashurst did not answer.  He was seeing again Megan’s face, when at breakfast time he had whispered:  “I’m going to Torquay, darling, to get everything; I shall be back this evening.  If it’s fine we can go to-night.  Be ready.”  He was seeing again how she quivered and hung on his words.  What would she think?  Then he pulled himself together, conscious suddenly of the calm scrutiny of this other young girl, so tall and fair and Diana-like, at the edge of the pool, of her wondering blue eyes under those brows which slanted up a little.  If they knew what was in his mind—­if they knew that this very night he had meant!  Well, there would be a little sound of disgust, and he would be alone in the cave.  And with a curious mixture of anger, chagrin, and shame, he put his watch back into his pocket and said abruptly: 

“Yes; I’m dished for to-day.”

“Hurrah!  Now you can bathe with us.”

It was impossible not to succumb a little to the contentment of these pretty children, to the smile on Stella’s lips, to Halliday’s “Ripping, old chap!  I can lend you things for the night!” But again a spasm of longing and remorse throbbed through Ashurst, and he said moodily: 

“I must send a wire!”

The attractions of the pool palling, they went back to the hotel.  Ashurst sent his wire, addressing it to Mrs. Narracombe:  “Sorry, detained for the night, back to-morrow.”  Surely Megan would understand that he had too much to do; and his heart grew lighter.  It was a lovely afternoon, warm, the sea calm and blue, and swimming his great passion; the favour of these pretty children flattered him, the pleasure of looking at them, at Stella, at Halliday’s sunny face; the slight unreality, yet extreme naturalness of it all—­as of a last peep at normality before he took this plunge with Megan!  He got his borrowed bathing dress, and they all set forth.  Halliday and he undressed behind one rock, the three girls behind another.  He was first into the sea, and at once swam out with the bravado of justifying his self-given reputation.  When he turned he could see Halliday swimming along shore, and the girls flopping and dipping, and riding the little waves, in the way he was accustomed to despise, but now thought pretty and sensible, since it gave him the distinction of the only deep-water fish.  But drawing near, he wondered if they would like him, a stranger, to come into their splashing group; he felt shy, approaching that slim nymph.  Then Sabina summoned him to teach her to float, and between them the little girls kept him so busy that he had no time even to notice whether Stella was accustomed to his presence, till suddenly he heard a startled sound from her:  She was standing submerged to the waist, leaning a little forward, her slim white arms stretched out and pointing, her wet face puckered by the sun and an expression of fear.