An electric vibration of understanding quivered between them like a shivering cord stretched between two boats balanced each on its own wave-crest. And then, with incredible swiftness, a deliciously mocking smile came into her face. “Shall I tell you something, Wolf?” she said. “I’ve started writing a story! I began it at one o’clock last night, when I decided to conquer all feminine equivocations. It’s about someone quite different from me, but⁠ ⁠… very philosophical. It was the philosophical part I began last night. I wrote page after page⁠ ⁠… quick as that!” And releasing his coat, she made a characteristically girlish gesture with her fingers.

“I believe you could write a wonderful book,” said Wolf earnestly; and then, almost before he was aware of it, as they stood together, the indescribable entrancement of that green seaweed he had visualized a moment ago, and the salty taste of spray, and the touch of sun-warmed sand that had come with it, associated themselves with the delicious peace into which her presence threw him, and he began to abandon himself to the ecstasy of his “mythology.”