"Evidently," she replied, "but we're both willing you should sit down. Won't you?"
"I think I'd rather look at myself in your mirror. Isn't that what you were doing when I descended upon you?"
"No. We have no need here for mirrors from month's end to month's end, for we never wear hats."
"Tush, tush," returned Dunham, lowering himself with some care among the projections of the inhospitable rock. "I'm sure you both patronize mirrors for the pure pleasure of it. In the minute I stood waiting and watching up there I expected to see you turn into—who was what's-his-name, Narcissus? Narcissi, then."
"Nonsense. You should use more local color. Say Anemones; but I warn you, we don't allow pretty speeches up here."
"That's unfortunate," returned Dunham, "for I've been in Seaton for months, and there's nobody to make love to there but Miss La—" He nearly bit his tongue off in the suddenness of his halt, but he did save himself. "What is in this pool, then, if not starry eyes?" he added suddenly, bending over the stone trough with interest.
"Starfish," replied Edna. "See this one. I pulled it out just before you came."
The starfish was clinging pinkly to the rock, and beyond him lay the urchin, the blackness of its draggled spines turning to green as it dried in the sun.
"Who's your friend?" asked John, regarding it. "Looks like a miniature Paderewski. Say, he's getting up steam."
In fact, the urchin had begun dragging itself in a stately and scarcely perceptible progress across the rock toward its native pool. The three watched it.