"Well, my boy," the old woman cried, "it appears you couldn't stay away from your policemen friends one single evening, after all. I give you up."
John Quincy laughed. "I'm pau now. By the way, Carlota Egan—is she—"
"They're all out there somewhere," the hostess said. "They came in for a bit of supper—by the way, there are sandwiches in the dining-room and—"
"Not just now," said John Quincy. "Thank you so much. I'll see you again, of course—"
He dashed out on the sand. A group of young people under the hau tree informed him that Carlota Egan was on the farthest float. Alone? Well, no—that naval lieutenant—
He was, he reflected as he hurried on toward the water, a bit fed up with the navy. That was hardly the attitude he should have taken, considering all the navy had done for him. But it was human. And John Quincy was human at last.
For an instant he stood at the water's edge. His bathing suit was in the dressing-room, but he never gave it a thought. He kicked off his shoes, tossed aside his coat, and plunged into the breakers. The blood of the wandering Winterslips was racing through his veins; hot blood that tropical waters had ever been powerless to cool.
Sure enough, Carlota Egan and Lieutenant Booth were together on the float. John Quincy climbed up beside them.
"Well, I'm back," he announced.
"I'll tell the world you're back," said the lieutenant. "And all wet, too."