The man named Berners looked up at his host with twinkling eyes.
"Right!" he said. "So far as I am concerned, you shall be Mr. Andrew, fisherman. Will you also kindly remember that if any curiosity is evinced as to my identity, I am Mr. Berners, and that I am here for a rest-cure. By the by, how are you going to explain that elderly domestic of yours?"
"He is your servant, of course," Andrew answered. "He understands the position. I have spoken to him already. Yes, they are coming here right enough! Suppose you help me to pull in the boat for them."
The two men sauntered down to the shelving beach. The boat was close to them now, and Cecil was standing up in the bows.
"We want to land for a few minutes," he called out.
"Throw a rope, then," Andrew answered briefly. "You had better come in this side of the landing-stage."
The rope was thrown, and the boat dragged high and dry upon the pebbly beach. The Princess, after a glance at him through her lorgnette, surrendered herself willingly to Andrew's outstretched hands.
"I am quite sure," she said, "that you will not let me fall. You must be the wonderful person whom my daughter has told me about. Is this queer little place really your home?"
"I live here," Andrew de la Borne said simply.
Jeanne leaned over towards him.