"You get a few visitors now, I see," Merefleet observed.
The fisherman nodded. "Don't know what they come for," he observed. "Bathing ain't good, and them pleasure-boats—well"—he lifted his shoulders expressively—"half-a-capful of wind would upset 'em. There's a lady staying at this here hotel—an American lady she be—what goes out every day regular, she and a young gentleman with her. They won't have me nor yet any of my mates to go along, and yet—bless you—they could no more manage that boat if a squall was to come up nor they could fly. I told her once as it wasn't safe. And she laughed in my face, sir. She did, really."
Merefleet smiled a little.
"Well, if she likes to run the risk it's not your fault," he said.
"No, sir. It ain't. But that don't make me any easier. She's a pretty young lady, too," the man added. "Maybe you've seen her, sir."
Merefleet shook his head. He had heard her, and he had no desire to improve his acquaintance with her.
"As pretty a young lady as you would wish to see," continued the fisherman reflectively. "Wonderful, she is. 'Tain't often we get such a picture in this here part of the country. Ever been to America, sir?"
"Just come home," said Merefleet.
"Are all the ladies over there as pretty as this one, I wonder?" said his new acquaintance in an awed tone.
"She seems to have made a considerable impression," said Merefleet, with a laugh. "What is the lady like?"