Peter Mauger, indeed--but then she had never looked upon Peter as
anything but Peter, and the shadow of Tom had always obscured him to
her. Stephen Gard was a man, and a different kind of a man from Peter
altogether.

She remembered, with a slight reddening still of the warm brown cheeks
whenever she thought of it--how, on the previous Sunday afternoon, she
and Bernel had gone running over the downs through the waist-high
bracken towards Brenière, the tide in their favourite pool below the
rocks being too high for bathing. And on the slope above the Cromlech
they had come suddenly on Gard, lying there looking out over the sea
towards L'Etat.

He had jumped up at sight of them and stood hesitating a moment.

"Going for a bathe?" he asked, knowing the usual course of their
proceedings.

"Yes, we were," said Bernel. "You going?" with a glance at the towel
Gard had brought out on the chance of a dip.

"I'd thought of it, but your tides and currents here are so
troublesome--"

"Oh, we know all about 'em. They're all right when you know."

"I suppose so, but--" with a look at Nance, "I'll clear out."

"You're not coming?"