shown at their last parting, she caught Lucy by the arm and darted away
in a romping race to her dwelling. Jarman started after her. He had
not wanted to go to her father's house particularly, but why was SHE
evidently as averse to it? With the subtle pleasure that this admission
gave him there was a faint stirring of suspicion.

It was gone when he found her and Lucy the next morning, radiant with
the sunshine, before his door. The restraint of their previous meetings
had been removed in some mysterious way, and they chatted gayly as they
walked towards the cliffs. She asked him frankly many questions about
himself, why he had come there, and if he "wasn't lonely;" she answered
frankly--I fear much more frankly than he answered her--the many
questions he asked her about herself and her friends. When they reached
the cliffs they descended to the beach, which they found deserted.
Before them--it seemed scarce a pistol shot from the shore arose a high,
broad rock, beaten at its base by the long Pacific surf, on which a
number of shapeless animals were uncouthly disporting. This was Seal
Rock, the goal of their journey.

Yet after a few moments they no longer looked at it, but seated on the
sand, with Lucy gathering shells at the water's edge, they continued
their talk. Presently the talk became eager confidences, and
then,--there were long and dangerous lapses of silence, when both were
fain to make perfunctory talk with Lucy on the beach. After one of those
silences Jarman said:--

"Do you know I rather thought yesterday you didn't want me to come to
your father's house. Why was that?"

"Because Marco was there," said the girl frankly.