"I—I am sorry," she said, "but would you mind not walking on the beach?"
This was sudden. I had intended to retire and leave the beach to her, but I did not fancy being driven away so abruptly.
"I was about to withdraw, madam," said I, bowing stiffly; "I beg you will pardon any inconvenience"
"Dear me!" she cried, "you don't understand. I do not—I would not think for a moment of asking you to leave Pine Inlet. I merely ventured to request you to walk on the dunes. I am so afraid that your footprints may obliterate the impressions that my father is studying."
"Oh!" said I, looking about me as though I had been caught in the middle of a flower bed; "really I did not notice any impressions. Impressions of what—if I may be permitted?"
"I don't know," she said, smiling a little at my awkward pose. "If you step this way in a straight line you can do no damage."
I did as she bade me. I suppose my movements resembled the gait of a wet peacock. Possibly they recalled the delicate manœuvres of the kangaroo. Anyway, she laughed.
This seriously annoyed me. I had been at a disadvantage; I walk well enough when let alone.
"You can scarcely expect," said I, "that a man absorbed in his own ideas could notice im-
