"It's good of you to think of me," replied the artist warmly. "I don't know that I could do that work. I should have to satisfy Mr. Tremaine with a sample. We couldn't put our educational tips on the pictures, but there could be a thin cover for each illustration with the description on a corner of that."
"Oh, yes, much better," agreed Kathleen.
They talked a little longer and the splendid tide suddenly splashed them with glittering spray.
"A broad hint," laughed Kathleen, springing up. "We must go back."
Phil sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, and getting reluctantly to his feet, he started to give his hand to Kathleen, then remembering that she preferred independence, he picked up the cushions and started ahead of her.
They had nearly crossed the rocks when a cry from her arrested him.
He turned. She had sunk down in the moonlight.
"Oh, how dull of me!" she cried. "I'm used to my rubber-soled shoes."
"What! Turned your ankle?" Phil flung the cushions over upon the grass, and hurried to her.