“We can climb the head and round into Grande Greve, but it would be pretty rough on the feet.  Or we can wait till the tide turns and swim in again—­”

“When will it turn?”

“It’s full at noon,” he said, studying the waters in front.  “But how that affects matters here none but a Sarkman could say.  Tides here are a law unto themselves, like the people.”

“How would that do?” asked Margaret, as a black boat came slowly round the rocks from Les Fontaines, sculled by an elderly fisherman.

“It is old Billy Mollet after his lobster-pots,” and he stood up and coo-eed to the new-comer, and waved his arms till Billy saw them and stared hard and then turned leisurely their way.

“Guyablle!” said the old man, as he drew in.  “What you doin’ there now?”

“Got carried out of Grande Greve by a current, Mr. Mollet.  Will you take us back in your boat?”

“Ay, ay!” and he brought the boat as near to the rock as he dared, and his weather-stained old eyes settled hypnotically on the fairest burden his old tub had ever carried, as Graeme handed her carefully down and helped her to spring into the dancing craft, and then sprang in himself with bleeding feet and shins, while Punch leaped lightly after him and crawled under a thwart.

“Ye must ha’ been well out for tide to catch ye,” said Billy, with no eyes for anything but the vision in clinging pink.

“Yes, we were too far out and couldn’t get back.”

“Tide runs round them rocks.”

He dropped his oar into the rowlock and Graeme took the other, and in five minutes they were speeding across the sands of Grande Greve—­Margaret to cover, Graeme to his pocket for Billy’s reward.

Miss Penny had a driftwood fire roaring among the rocks, and the kettle was boiling.

“Where on earth have you two been?” she cried, at sight of Margaret skipping over the stones to her dressing-room, and got only the wave of a white arm in reply.

And presently Graeme came along in easy piratical costume of shirt and trousers and red sash, and sat down and lit a pipe.

“We went a bit farther than we intended,” he explained, but did not tell her how nearly they had gone out of bounds altogether.

“You’ll enjoy a cup of tea.  You look as if you’d been working hard.”

“There is a bit of a current round that point.”

“Ah, you should follow a good example and keep within touch of the bottom.  Here you are, Meg—­fresh made for every customer.  Help yourself, Mr. Graeme.  I’ve had mine, I couldn’t wait.  Tea never tastes so good as when you’re half full of salt-water, and I got right out of my depth once and swallowed tons.  I screamed to you two to come and save me, but you never paid the slightest attention, and for all you cared I might have been drowned five times over.”

“One would have been quite once too many,” said Graeme, holding out his cup.  “For then you couldn’t have lighted that fire and made this tea.  And I’m half inclined to think we wouldn’t be enjoying it a quarter so much if a little blue corpse lay out there on the shining sand, and we’d had to turn to and make it ourselves.”