After half an hour of silence he was about to renew the argument when he discovered that she was asleep. She had curled herself up in a sunny hollow of the rocks, made a pillow out of an arm and become quite oblivious to Larchmont Harbor and all the world beyond and around it.
Pete arose cautiously. He climbed further up on the rocks, then paused to look back. She had not moved. He went still farther inshore, moving noiselessly on all fours, then straightened up and walked as briskly as a man may who is not innured to going barefoot in the rough places.
"If she wakes up, let her holler," he muttered. "I'm going to take a look around."
Half an hour later he was back again, munching an apple. He had several more that he placed on the rock beside Mary, who still slept as dreamlessly as a baby and who had not stirred during his absence. Pete regarded her with severe eyes.
"Shall I wake her? No. Let her sleep the sleep of starvation within arm's reach of food. Never was there any justice more poetic. If she wants to be stubborn let her find out what it is costing her. Perhaps I'd better eat all the apples. No; I won't do that. Then she'd never know what she missed. I might leave a little row of cores for her to look at. That's a good idea, but—oh, she'd murder me. I think she could be dangerous if she tried."
Mary did not look dangerous. She seemed more like a tired little child. Once she stirred, but did not awaken, although she smiled faintly.
"Dreaming of Bill," was Pete's comment. "Which reminds me: wonder where Bill is?"
Several yachts had entered the harbor; others had left. But although he made systematic survey of the entire anchorage there was no trace of the Sunshine. The sun disappeared, and there followed a perceptible cooling of the air. Pete reached mechanically for his watch, then remembered and laughed. The laugh awoke Mary.
She sat up in a daze, staring at him.
"We're in Larchmont, sitting on a rock and trying to be dignified in the midst of preposterous adversity," he reminded her. "Have an apple?"