towards a bright patch of colour in the grey shore wall: a blue
quay-door overhung with ivy. The upper windows of the cottage behind
it were draped with snowy muslin, and its walls, coated with recent
whitewash, shamed its neighbours to right and left.

As the boat dropped under this blue quay-door, its upper flap opened
softly, and a voice as softly said--

"Thank you kindly, John. And how d'ye do this May morning?"

"Charming," the man answered frankly. "Handsome weather 'tis, to be
sure."

He looked up and smiled at her, like a lover.

"I needn't to ask how _you_ be; for you'm looking sweet as blossom,"
he went on.

And yet the woman that smiled down on him was fifty years old at
least. Her hair, which usually lay in two flat bands, closely drawn
over the temples, had for this occasion been worked into waves
by curling-papers, and twisted in front of either ear, into that
particular ringlet locally called a kiss-me-quick. But it was streaked
with grey, and the pinched features wore the tint of pale ivory.

"D'ye think you can clamber down the ladder, Sarah? The tide's fairly
high."

"I'm afraid I'll be showing my ankles."