He proceeded immediately into the ocean, puffing strenuously and gazing
about. No women could be seen. They never had any regularity of habit,
he complained silently. After dinner--a surfeit of tenderloin
Bordelaise--he walked up the short incline to the boardwalk, where on
one of the benches overlooking the sparkling water he saw a slight
familiar figure. It was Miss Beggs. Her eyes dwelt on him momentarily
and then returned to the horizon.
"You are a great deal alone," he commented on the far end of the bench.
"It's because I choose to be," she answered sharply.
An expression of displeasure was audible in his reply, "You should have
no trouble."
"I ought to explain," she continued, her slim hands clasped on shapely
knees; "I mean that I can't get what I want"
"So you prefer nothing?"
She nodded.
"That's different," August Turnbull declared. "Anybody could see you're
particular. Still, it's strange you haven't met--well, one that suited
you."
"What good would it do me--a school-teacher, and now a companion!"
"You might be admired for those very things."
"Yes, by old ladies, male and female. Not men. There's just one
attraction for them."
"Well----"
She turned now and faced him with a suppressed bitter energy.
"Clothes," she said.
"That's nonsense!" he replied emphatically. "Dress is only incidental."
"When did you first notice me?" she demanded. "In bathing. That bathing
suit cost more than any two of my dresses.
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