CHAPTER XVI
The Devil of the Sea
It was Sunday morning, the first Sunday morning after the arrival of the American ladies at the house over the way,—for I took them to be such, and, later, my conjecture proved not a very long way out.
It had been a week of hard work, petty annoyances and unsatisfying little pleasures.
When I got up that morning, I felt jaded. As I ate my breakfast, I became more so; but, as I went out on to the veranda to look upon the beauties of Golden Crescent,—as I did every morning,—I came to myself.
This will never do, George Bremner! What you need is a swim!
I had hit it. Why had not I thought of it sooner? I undressed, and in less time than it takes to retell it, I was in the water and striking straight for Rita's Isle.
When I got there, I sunned myself on the rocks, as was my wont. I looked across towards Clarks' farm, in the hope that I might espy Rita somewhere between,—yet half hoping that I would not, for I was browsing in the changing delights and sensations of the thoughts which my solitariness engendered.
For one thing;—I had made the discovery the night before that Miss Grant's Christian name was Mary.