"I lived for a month once on dried apricots and snow," I returned; "but I don't do that sort of thing from choice. Besides," I added recklessly, "I had a sort of feeling I was going to meet you."
She held up a reproving finger.
"You're not ashore now," she said, smiling; "and no sailor should tell fibs at sea."
"Have you been reading Kipling's Brass-bound Man?" I asked.
"No," she said simply. "My father told me that."
And this, I think, was the only occasion in all the three days in which she volunteered any information about herself or her life apart from Kerrin Island.
It must be admitted that we had plenty of time for exchanging confidences had we wished to, Our day started at about 9 A.M., when, after an early morning dip, Rufus and I would pull off to the shore in the dinghy and meet Astarte, who had walked over from the hut.
Breakfast followed, a merry, easy meal, lasting about an hour and a half, after which I would sail the Scandal round to the farther anchorage; while my guest, in the teeth of all polite convention, cheerfully washed up the cups and plates.
Then came the great event of the day, our race round the island for the Kerrin Cup.
This trophy had been presented by Astarte herself on the morning after my arrival. She had brought it over to breakfast with her—a painful atrocity in green and white and gold, bearing a purple label announcing that it was "A present from Strathpeffer."