"Good-bye," she said, gravely nodding at him.

"Good-bye, Calypso!"

She joined her finger tips above her head, preliminary to a plunge. Then
she looked down at him over her shoulder.

"I _told_ you that Calypso was a _land_ nymph."

"I can't help it; fabled Calypso you must remain to me."

"Oh; am I to remain--anything--to you--for the next five minutes?"

"Do you think I could forget you?"

"I don't think so--for five minutes. Your satisfied vanity will retain
me for so long--until it becomes hungry again. And--but read the history
of Ulysses--carefully. However, it _was_ nice of you--not to name
yourself and expect a response from me. I'm afraid--I'm afraid it is
going to take me almost five minutes to forget you--I mean your boat of
course. Good-bye!"

Before he could speak again she went overboard, rose swimming with
effortless grace. After a dozen strokes or so she turned on one side,
glancing back at him. Later, almost among the breakers, she raised one
arm in airy signal, but whether to him or to somebody on the raft he did
not know.

For five minutes--the allotted five--he lay on his oars watching the
sands. At moments he fancied he could still distinguish her, but the