When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. The young man was mollified by her sympathy, and flattered by the obvious attempts of several of the other guests to draw him into conversation. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Without a single ornament about her neck, or hair, wearing the plainest of black gowns, out of which her shoulders shone gleaming white, she was easily the most noticeable and the most distinguished-looking woman in the room. “That sounds interesting. Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me.
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