like the most perfect spot in the South Seas, Tao Tao nestled amid the glistening ocean. Far away, on the west side of the island, the surf was singing its perpetual song, a never-ending, sonorous boom which, though those who heard it hardly noticed the sound after a while, was nevertheless music in their ears that they would have missed.
"It certainly is peaceful here, if nothing else," replied Joan. "I am so glad for your sake that you have not found it too monotonous."
Keith smiled, and picking up a pebble, threw it into the sea.
"I s'pose, like when the elevator cable breaks, it all depends what sort of a life you have been leading," he said. "I'm twenty-seven years old now, Miss Trent. I ran away to sea when I was sixteen, and there has been mighty little of the placid side of life squeezed into those eleven years. That—that makes it all the more enjoyable now, you see."
The girl looked around, interested. It was the first time he had mentioned his age; she had taken him for a year or two older, partly because of the tinge of grey over his temples. Nor, indeed, had he ever spoken, except vaguely, of his early days.
"Sixteen!" she said. "At that time I had arrived at the age when I first insisted on having my hair up. I was twelve. Why, you began the battle of life when I was almost a baby. Did you stick to the sea after that?"
