was passing and the wind blowing fairly toward the shore.

As soon as Geddie reached this conclusion a wrinkle came between his
brows and a stubborn look settled around his mouth. He sat looking
out through the doorway at the gigantic fire-flies traversing the
quiet streets.

If this was a message to him from Ida, what could it mean save an
overture at reconciliation? And if that, why had she not used the
same methods of the post instead of this uncertain and even flippant
means of communication? A note in an empty bottle, cast into the
sea! There was something light and frivolous about it, if not
actually contemptuous.

The thought stirred his pride, and subdued whatever emotions had been
resurrected by the finding of the bottle.

Geddie put on his coat and hat and walked out. He followed a street
that led him along the border of the little plaza where a band was
playing and people were rambling, care-free and indolent. Some
timorous ~senoritas~ scurrying past with fire-flies tangled in the
jetty braids of their hair glanced at him with shy, flattering eyes.
The air was languorous with the scent of jasmin and orange-blossoms.

The consul stayed his steps at the house of Bernard Brannigan. Paula
was swinging in a hammock on the gallery. She rose from it like a
bird from its nest. The color came to her cheeck at the sound of
Geddie's voice.

He was charmed at the sight of her costume--a flounced muslin dress,