"It wasn't a question of knowing, but of helping. As to knowing—you don't know me."
"Oh yes, I do!" answered Spenser.
"But you have never seen me until to-day. Now please don't tell me that I am so much like some one else that you feel as if you had known me for ages."
"You are like no one else, your type exists only in dreams—the dreams of artists mad on color. It's in my dreams that I have seen you," he went on, surveying her with the frankest, the most enjoying admiration. "Aren't you glad you're so beautiful?"
"Yes," responded Garda, with serene gravity. "I am very glad indeed."
They came before long to the descent of which he had spoken; it was a miniature gorge, which led down to the beach in the scallop where Garda had begun her race. As soon as they reached the lower level, Garda went to Margaret and took her hands. "Do you really feel better!" she said. "We'll stay here a while and rest."
Margaret refused, saying that the feeling of fatigue had passed away.
"You have got more color than usual," said Garda, scanning her face.
"A sure sign that I am perfectly well again," answered Margaret, smiling.
"A sure sign that you are very tired," said Evert Winthrop.