"Of course I'm not a mermaid!" Joan retorted. "How could I be?"
"I'm sorry," said the child. "You see, I didn't know anyone was in here, and when I saw you I thought you might be one. You're so shimmery, you know, and your hair's so long, only it's not green. And they almost always have a comb and a glass in their hand." He hesitated. "We always hoped one would come near the Light," he went on, "but I did wonder how you could have climbed in at the window. But if you aren't a mermaid, who are you?"
"I'm Miss Joan Kirkland," she said.
"That's a very nice name; I shall call you Joan. May I come in while you do up your hair? Mudder always lets me watch her do hers." He sat down in the rocking-chair with some difficulty and clasped his hands over his best knee. "My name is Garth Pemberley. I'm rather sorry you're not a mermaid," he said.
"You don't really think there are such things as mermaids, do you?" asked Joan.
The child gazed at her with an expression in his serious eyes that for a moment reminded her of Robert Sinclair's sober look.
