"Oh, I agree quietly."

"Does every man you meet tell you he loves you?"

Ardita nodded.

"Why shouldn't he? All life is just a progression toward, and
then a recession from, one phrase--'I love you.'"

Carlyle laughed and sat down.

"That's very true. That's--that's not bad. Did you make that up?"

"Yes--or rather I found it out. It doesn't mean anything
especially. It's just clever."

"It's the sort of remark," he said gravely, "that's typical of
your class."

"Oh," she interrupted impatiently, "don't start that lecture on
aristocracy again! I distrust people who can be intense at this
hour in the morning. It's a mild form of insanity--a sort of
breakfast-food jag. Morning's the time to sleep, swim, and be
careless."

Ten minutes later they had swung round in a wide circle as if to
approach the island from the north.

"There's a trick somewhere," commented Ardita thoughtfully. "He
can't mean just to anchor up against this cliff."