the water all the while, the young woman moved away from the frequented part of the sands. She tried to pick up a ribbon of weed but it escaped her. Leonor reached it. Out of the water, it was a long viscious whip-lash. She thanked him, embarrassed by the present.
"Throw it back, then. It's like most of our desires. As soon as one holds them fast, one would like to throw them back into the sea."
She gave a little laugh, a sad, almost a smothered, laugh.
"Oh! Not always," she said.
They turned back towards the dunes and, seated on the sand, began to talk as though they were old friends.
She looked at him insistently, though appearing to do so. Finally she said:
"You don't look like a nasty man."
"Is that a compliment?"
"In my mouth, yes."
Then, little by little warming up, she talked without stop. It was a flood of words, like the mounting tide, only more rapid. She told him the story of her life. Leonor liked this sort of thing from ladies of equivocal reputations, and he now displayed a keen interest,
