He had never seen her in a bathing suit
before. August Turnbull delayed until she was at his side.
"Good evening." Her voice was low, and she scarcely lifted her gaze
from the sand.
He wondered why--she had been in his house for a month--he had failed
completely to notice her previously. He decided that it had been
because she was so pale and quiet. Ordinarily he didn't like white
cheeks; and then she had been deceptive; he had subconsciously thought
of her as thin.
She stopped and took off her rubber cap, performing that act slowly,
while her body, in wet satin, turned like a faultless statue of
glistening black marble.
"Do you enjoy bathing in the ocean?" he asked.
A momentary veiled glance accompanied her reply. "Yes," she said;
"though I can't swim. I like to be beaten by the waves. I like to fight
against them."
She hesitated, then fell definitely back; and he was forced to walk on
alone.
His wife's companion! With the frown once more scoring the line between
his eyes he satirically contrasted Miss Beggs, a servant really, and
Emmy.
II
His room occupied the front corner on the sea, Emmy's was beyond; the
door between was partly open and he could hear her moving about, but
with a cigarette and his hair-brushes he made no acknowledgment of her
presence.
The sun was now no more than a diffused gray glow, the sea like
unstirred molten silver. The sound of the muffled gong that announced
dinner floated up the stairs.
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