"You haven't met her yet, but that happy privilege will be yours before you sleep. The sweetest girl in the Islands—or in the world. The daughter of Jim Egan, whom you have been heard to refer to as a glorified beach-comber."
Again Miss Minerva frowned. "It's a great risk, John Quincy. She hasn't our background—"
"No, and that's a pleasant change. She's the niece of your old friend—you knew that?"
"I did," answered Miss Minerva softly.
"Your dear friend of the 'eighties. What was it you said to me? If your chance ever comes—"
"I hope you will be very happy," his aunt said. "When you write it to your mother, be sure and mention Captain Cope of the British Admiralty. Poor Grace! That will be all she'll have to cling to—after the wreck."
"What wreck?"
"The wreck of all her hopes for you."
"Nonsense. Mother will understand. She knows I'm a roaming Winterslip, and when we roam, we roam."
They found Madame Maynard seated in her living-room with a few of her more elderly guests. From the beach came the sound of youthful revelry.