"No," she confessed; "but all the girls do, nowadays."
"I don't like it," said Sam bluntly.
"Of course I was only joking," she returned hastily.
Their conversation was not very romantic. Sam, with the best intentions in the world, somehow frustrated her attempts in this direction. He was propped up on one elbow beside her.
"How thick and bright your hair is!" she murmured.
"You've got some hair yourself," returned Sam politely.
She quickly put both hands up. "Ah! don't look at it. A hair-dresser spoiled it. As a child it hung below my waist."
Sam not knowing exactly what to say to this, blew a cloud of smoke.
"What a perfect night!" she breathed.
"Great!" said Sam. "That near-horse of mine, Sambo, picked up a stone on the beach this morning. I didn't discover what was making him lame until we were half-way round the bay. I wish I knew more about horses. I pick up all I can, but you never can tell when these fellows are giving it to you straight."