"Why, yes! Good-morning, Miss Gay."
"Good-morning, yourself, Colonel Meredith, and many of them. Want to look?"
"Thank you."
Colonel Meredith focussed the glasses upon the brown tents.
"What do you make them out to be?"
"I can make out a sort of nigger carrying tea into one of the tents. And there's a young lady in black. She seems to be walking down to the shore to meet your brother. And now she's waving her hand to him."
"The impudent thing," exclaimed Gay. "What's my brother doing?"
"He's paddling as if he expected to cross a hundred yards of water in a second. If the young lady comes any closer to the water, she'll get wet."
Suddenly blushing crimson, he thrust the field-glasses back into Gay's hands, and cried with complete conviction that he was "blessed."
In the bright field of magnification, hastily focussed to her own vision, Gay beheld her brother and the young woman in black tightly locked in each other's arms.