An artist had set up his easel on the near shore, and was sitting on a camp-stool before it, working busily. A large straw hat was crowded down to the tops of his ears to thwart the wind, and Edgar wondered who might be the competitor of the painter who was working away at the Villa Chantecler. He glanced carelessly at the artist and then renewed his scrutiny of the rocks; being so engrossed, that the next time his gaze went forward, he saw that a girl was lying on the rock near the easel, leaning on her elbow and alternately watching the artist and the sea.
Edgar suspected the truth with a wave of anger. How could Phil be in two places at once? He had allowed Kathleen to slip on the rocks. Probably he had been absent-minded. This had been planned for; Mrs. Wright couldn't have known it.
He strode forward.
"Good morning!" he said, with awe-inspiring dignity.
"Oh, hello," returned Violet carelessly, turning her head so as to see the newcomer.
Could this nonchalant girl be she who had wept at the window!
"I went over to the house to see how you were," said Edgar severely, "and Mrs. Wright said you were watching the tide."
"Yes," returned Violet, lazy in the sun, "but I found something so much better to watch."
"You can't see anything from there," declared Edgar, speaking crisply.