"Still," she laughed, "I think if I were going to be here long I'd give them a trial. They might get acclimatized."
"It's an interesting question," I said, "as to which of them would be broken first."
Taking her various burdens from her, I began to set them out in a half-circle round the teapot.
"If I'd known I was going to have a visitor," she said, "I'd have made some hot cakes. As it is, you'll have to be content with gingerbread and biscuits."
Then she sat down opposite me, and began to pour out tea. I watched her with a most pleasant curiosity. I have been in a good many parts of the world, and met some distinctly quaint people, but this beautiful girl, with her perfect self-possession and astounding absence of convention, baffled me completely. Who on earth could she be, and what was she doing on the island—my island—or, to be strictly accurate, George's island? That she was well educated—what I believe is known in refined circles as "a lady"—was of course obvious, but this only made the situation more puzzling than ever. I simply gave it up, and, accepting the cup of tea which she handed across, waited calmly for any further enlightenment that Fate might vouchsafe.
"You shall have your hut by six o'clock," she said, breaking a biscuit and offering half of it to Rufus. "I'll get my belongings on board directly after tea."
"I hope you won't do anything of the kind," I answered promptly. Then, feeling that my remark, though true and distinctly well intended, was perhaps a trifle obscure, I hastened to add: "I never use the hut when I come here. I always sleep on the Scandal."
"On the what?" she asked, opening her nice grey eyes.
"On my boat," I explained. "I call her the Scandal because she travels faster than anything else in Scotland."
Her eyes sparkled. "I wonder if she could beat the Penguin? That's my boat. I've only hired her, but she goes like a bird."