"I'm nearly certain that it has leaked out that Mr. Meramble didn't fall into the water," said Prudence, after a silence. "I suppose somebody must have been looking through a glass at us. People are always looking through a glass at the ocean and telling each other what they see. That man will do something, I tell you. He isn't smiling in such a shining way for nothing."
"Very well; let us wait and see what he does. We shall have thus some interest in life left to us; that will be something for which to be grateful to your friend."
"My friend!"
"Certainly; and he may thank you for his ducking."
Lawrence again puffed out a cloud of smoke and watched it dissipate in the blue air. But his wife refrained from speaking.
A few more days passed. On one of them Prudence remarked that they had made a great mistake in leaving Europe; in Europe they wouldn't have met Mr. Meramble.
"It might as well be Meramble as another; it was sure to be somebody," Lawrence returned.
That afternoon a great many of the winter residents attended a tennis match. Of course Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence were there; so was Meramble; and just as the game was over this latter gentleman suddenly appeared near Lawrence, who was in the midst of a group of men and women.
Meramble's face was crimson, and he was smiling. People looked at him curiously as he made his way among them. He carried a dog-whip in his hand; but then there was a bull-terrier at his heels, following closely, his red eyes watching his master.
"How do you do, Mr. Lawrence?" Meramble asked.