Alpha Book

And these kept the would-be adorer
moving--wistful, lagging, but still moving along the edge of that
invisible barrier set between her and the world with her absent-minded
greeting, and her serious, beautiful eyes fixed so steadily on a distant
white spot--the sponson canoe where Gladys and Selwyn sat, their paddle
blades flashing in the sun.
How far away they were. . . . Gerald was with them. . . . Curious that
Selwyn had not seen her waiting for him, knee-deep in the surf--curious
that he had seen Gladys instead. . . . True, Gladys had called to him
and signalled him, white arm upflung. . . . Gladys was very pretty--with
her heavy, dark hair and melting, Spanish eyes, and her softly rounded,
olive-skinned figure. . . . Gladys had called to him, and _she_ had not.
. . . That was true; and lately--for the last few days--or perhaps
more--she herself had been a trifle less impulsive in her greeting of
Selwyn--a little less _sans-facon_ with him. . . . After all, a man
comes when it pleases him.


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