"What's that?"
"Two vanishing races, yours and hers. The Boston Brahman and the pure Hawaiian."
Later in the morning Carlota Egan telephoned him, greatly excited. She had just seen the Sunday paper.
"All true," he admitted. "While you were dancing your heart out, I was struggling to sidestep a Cook's tour of the Orient."
"I shouldn't have had a happy moment if I'd known."
"Then I'm glad you didn't. Big party, I suppose?"
"Yes. You know, I've been terribly worried about you ever since that night on the avenue. I want to talk with you. Will you come to see me?"
"Will I? I'm on my way already."
He hung up the receiver and hastened down the beach. Carlota was sitting on the white sand not far from the Reef and Palm, all in white herself. A serious wide-eyed Carlota quite different from the gay girl who had been hurrying to a party the night before.
John Quincy dropped down beside her, and for a time they talked of the dance and of his adventure. Suddenly she turned to him.