She had been thinking about him, but she did not say so. She kept her gaze fixed on the long waves, rolling in in ceaseless regularity and sweeping lazily up the beach, as she answered:
“I was thinking how beautiful it is here.”
“So you like Muizenberg?” he said. “I hoped you would. Doesn’t the sea look jolly?”
“I’m afraid of the sea,” she said slowly.
He was watching her intently, admiring the rich colour under her skin, and the way in which the little tendrils of dark hair curled over the small ears, admiring too the long line of her shoulder, and the soft contour of the partly averted face. At her admission he suddenly smiled.
“So I heard,” he replied. “You must get better acquainted with it, and then you will lose your fear. I brought the gown along in my suit case. We will christen it to-morrow.”
“No,” she said, startled, and flashed a quick, almost terrified look at him. There was a strong appeal in her tones. “I don’t wish to bathe—really.”
“Not to please me—Blanche?” he said, and dropped on his elbow on the sand and possessed himself of her hand.
“Oh, don’t!” she cried. “Some one will see us.”
“There is no one to see,” he answered, with a cautious look about him. “What a timid little mouse it is!” He ran his hand up the loose sleeve of her blouse and caressed her elbow with his fingers. “Your skin is like satin,” he said, and smiled into her shrinking eyes. “You mustn’t be angry with me, Blanche. I have a very great affection for you. And I want you to be very happy with us,—I want you to consider yourself as one of the family. What would you say to my adopting you?”