"How anybody can go in bathing in this weather," Becky shivered, as a
woman ran down the sands towards the sea. She east off her bathing
cloak and stood revealed, slim and rather startling, in yellow.

"She goes in every day," said Cope, "even when it storms."

"Who is she?"

"A dancer--from New York. Haven't you seen her before?"

"No. Where is she staying?"

"At the hotel."

"I thought the hotel was closed."

"Not for three weeks. There aren't many guests. This one came up a
month ago. She dances on the moor--practising for some play which
opens in October."

"What's her name?"

"I don't know. They call her 'The Yellow Daffodil' because of that
bathing suit."

The girl was swimming now beyond the breakers.

Becky was envious. "I wish I could swim like that."

"You can do other things--that she can't do."