They were bathing in the stream. Kneebone nodded. Denis. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. It came with an extreme effect of re-discovery, a remarkable novelty. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. But you want one quality, without which all others are valueless. Wood became sensible that he was not alone. Perhaps you'll give me in return some token, by which I may remind you of this occurrence, in case we meet again. “Child!” he cried.
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