The next morning, upon the sand, Claude Locker approached Olive.  “Would you like to decline my addresses for the second time?” he abruptly asked.

“Of course not” she exclaimed.

“Well, then,” said he, extending his hand, “good-by!”

“What are you talking about?” said Olive.  “What does this mean?”

“It means,” said he, “that I have fallen in love with you again.  I think I am rather worse than I was before.  If I stay here I shall surely propose.  Nothing can stop me—­not even the presence of your uncle if it is impossible for me to see you alone—­and, if you don’t want any of that, it is necessary that I go, and go quickly.”

“Of course I don’t want it,” she said.  “But why need you be so foolish?  We were getting along so nicely as friends.  I expected to have lots of fun here with you and uncle.”

“Fun!” groaned Locker.  “It might have been fun for you and the captain, but what of the poor torn heart?  I know I must go, and now.  If I stay here five minutes longer I shall be at your feet, and it will be far better if I take to my own.  Good-by!” And, with a warm grasp of her hand, he departed.

Olive looked after him as he walked to the hotel.  If he had known how much she regretted to see him go he would have come back, and all his troubles would have begun again.

“Hello!” cried the captain when Locker had entered the house, “I was looking for you.  We can run out, and have some fishing this morning.  The tide will suit.  You did so well yesterday that I think to-day.  I can even teach you to take out a hook.”

“Take out a hook?” said Locker.  “I have a hook within me which no man in this world, and but one woman, can take out.  And as this she must not even be asked to do, I go.  Farewell!”

“What’s the matter with the young man” asked the captain of Olive a little later.

“Oh, he has fallen in love with me again,” said Olive, with a sigh, “and, of course, that spoils everything.  I wish people could be more sensible.”

The captain looked down upon her admiringly.  “I don’t see any hope for people,” he said.  And this was the first personal compliment he had ever paid his niece.

When Claude Locker had gone, Olive missed him more than she thought she could miss anybody.  Much of the life seemed to have gone out of the place, and the captain’s high spirits waned as if he was suffering from the depression which follows a stimulant.

“If that young fellow had been better-looking,” said the captain, “if he had more solid sense, and a good business, with both his eyes alike, I might have been more willing to let him go.”

“If he had been all that,” asked Olive with a smile, “why shouldn’t you have been willing to let him stay?”

The captain did not answer.  No matter what young Locker might have been, he could never have been Dick Lancaster.

“Uncle,” said Olive that afternoon, “where shall we go next?”