Justin Ford had not been unsuccessful with women. Many of them had liked him, and might have loved him if he had cared to make them, but until he met Bettina Dolce he had not cared.

There was about Bettina, however, a certain remoteness which puzzled him. She responded to his advances with girlish gayety, but her cool sweet glance held no hint of self-consciousness, and beyond a certain point of light flirtation he had, as yet, dared not go.

He pondered these things one morning as he worked on his delicate machine in the great shed with its wide opening toward the water.

Why had little Bettina erected a barrier? She knew nothing of the arts of sophisticated coquetry, so he absolved her from any intention to rouse his interest. Was she unawakened? Was there another man?

He laid down his pipe to think out that last startling proposition. There had been no men in her secluded life.

Except Anthony Blake! Gracious Peter, could it be Anthony? There came to Justin, suddenly, a vision of Bettina in the shadowy room. Of her childish dependence upon the doctor, of her little claims of intimacy, her evident preference for the older man's society, her vehement denial the night of the dinner that there could be anything but friendship between Anthony and Diana.

Putting, thus, two and two together, he decided that Bettina believed herself in love with Anthony. Yes, that was it—and Anthony—well, for Anthony there was just Diana!

There you had it, and the only way to save Bettina and, incidentally, himself from heartbreak was to take things into his own hands, and play Prince to this exquisite Cinderella.

Unconsciously his mind assumed a sort of King Cophetua attitude toward the charming Beggar Maid. He found himself humming:

Justin knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it in his pocket. There was no time like the present, and he at once went toward Diana's, "clothed all in leather," like the old man in the nursery rhyme.

He found Bettina in the garden. She wore a strong little suit of blue serge with a crimson silk scarf knotted under her sailor collar. On her fair head was a shady hat. She stood by the stone wall looking expectantly down the road. But it was not Justin whom she expected, although she smiled at him, and gave him her hand.

"Did you meet Miss Matthews?" she inquired.

"Miss Matthews?"

"You know. You met her the first time you saw me."

"I can only remember that time that I met—you."

She laughed. "How nicely you say it."

"But you do not take me seriously."

"Does anybody take you seriously?"

"Kind people do."

"And I'm not kind?"

"Not to me—you just give me remnants and fragments of your time. I have hardly seen you for three days."

"Nobody has seen me," she informed him. "I've been doing all sorts of stunts in the shops. I was in town yesterday with Mrs. Martens, and you should see my hats——"

"I'd rather see your hair. Do you know how lovely it is with the sunshine on it——"

"Silly—wait till you see my dream of a picture hat—with yellow roses—to be worn with a shadow lace robe over a primrose slip."

"White and gold—Sophie was foxy to choose that," he said.

"Foxy—why?"

"Oh, the pinks and blues don't suit you. You need the unusual tints. That amethyst frock you had on the other night fitted in with the twilight, and the old garden and the lilacs; and in the yellow and white you'll be a primrose, flashing in the sun."

"Mrs. Martens has the most wonderful taste," she informed him. "There's a tea-gown of white crape with a little lace wrap—I don't know when I'll wear it, but Mrs. Martens insisted—and a new gown for the yacht club dance to-morrow night,—and you should see my shoes—five pairs of them."

"Such richness!" He smiled into her eager eyes. "Did Diana help you choose?"

"Diana's away—on business in the city. That's why I'm free to do as I please to-day."

"Are you free to do as you please——?" He seized his opportunity. "Then come up to the shed and see my air-ship. We can have a little flight across the harbor."

She shook her head. "Oh, I can't. I have an engagement with Captain Stubbs and Miss Matthews. We are going fishing in the captain's boat, and have lunch on the rocks later."

Justin looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then he said, "Three's a crowd. You ought to have four."

"Are you asking—to be invited?"

"Please——"

"But it's Captain Stubbs' party."

"I am perfectly sure that if you'll give me a certificate of good character Captain Stubbs will take me aboard."

She seemed to be summing up the situation. "I'm not sure," she said, at last, "that you'd fit in——"

"Why not?"

"Oh, the captain's old-fashioned, and Miss Matthews is old-fashioned, and I love them both, and so I don't care. But you don't love them."

He flushed. "I see. You're afraid that I'll make them feel uncomfortable. I am sorry you should think that. I'm not quite a cad, you know."

There were sparks in his eyes. He wondered that he should be so angry. But he was desperately angry with this cool little creature who didn't seem to care.

And now she was passing frigid judgment on his blazing words. "Of course you aren't a cad. I didn't say you were. But you aren't like Bobbie Tucker or Dr. Blake. They have always known these people, and they understand them. There are no class distinctions in a town like this, you know——"

"Have I seemed such a prig to you?"

She cocked her head on one side and considered him, "Not since I talked to Mrs. Martens about you. She told me how nice you were in Germany."

In Germany; ye gods! Was he nice only in Germany?

He stared at her blankly. He had a feeling that he would like to shake her; that he would like to—kiss her.

In the midst of her conflicting emotions little Miss Matthews arrived, and behind her steamed Captain Stubbs.

Justin, murmuring inarticulately, acknowledged the introduction to the captain, and greeted Miss Matthews.

Miss Matthews was very prim and trim in a white shirt-waist and stiff collar. She had a gray sweater over her arm, and a green veil was tied over her soft felt hat. She carried in her hand a brown Boston bag, the contents of which she explained to Bettina.

"I told the captain I would bring some home-made pickles."

Justin gave immediate attention.

"Miss Matthews," he said, "do you mean to say that you three will eat fish chowder and home-made pickles, and that I shan't be there?"

The little captain, in a glow of hospitality, said heartily, "Now, look here; can't you come with us?"

Justin showed his white teeth in a flashing smile. "It's an invitation that I've been fishing for all the morning, but Miss Dolce won't ask me."

"Don't you want him?" the little captain demanded of Bettina.

"Of course," in the tone of one to whom it didn't really matter. "Perhaps he can help you with the boat, captain."

Justin, carrying Miss Matthews' bag, helping the captain over with the supplies, lifting Bettina over the side of the boat with strong arms which yearned to show their strength, was in a mental attitude far removed from his King Cophetua mood of the earlier morning. He was at this moment a slave chained to Bettina's chariot wheel. And the strange part of it was that he gloried in his chains! He realized that he was going out with her on a forced invitation, but he was going! And the sea was like sapphire, and the sun shone!

Little Miss Matthews, looking back afterward on that glorified fishing trip, was forced to confess that Justin left nothing undone for her which could be done. Never in her life had she been deferred to by such a charming youth, never had her little budget of small talk received such respectful consideration, never had she been waited on, hand and foot, by such a cavalier!

Rarely did Justin's eyes stray to where Bettina sat beside the captain, chatting to him in her confiding voice, making his old heart happy by her interest in his sea-seasoned reminiscences.

It was really a most altruistic performance. One might have imagined that for Justin there was just one woman in the world—Miss Matthews; and for Bettina, just one man—Captain Stubbs. Yet, as the little boat rounded the lighthouse point and came into the rougher waters outside, young hearts were thrilling to the sound of young voices, and the music of the spheres was being played to the accompaniment of beating waves.

When at last they anchored, the fishing was really incidental. To be sure it was exciting, and they had an excellent catch, but Bettina's hat was off and Justin could see her hair. And Justin, standing up in the bow of the boat with his line outflung, was, in Bettina's eyes, more than ever like a young Olympian god.

It was the same at lunch time. They landed on a crescent-shaped strip of beach, backed by rocky walls, where there was plenty of driftwood for their fire. There the captain gave his mind to the making of chowder, and Miss Matthews rendered expert service in the cutting up of onions and potatoes, and in the frying of salt pork.

Justin opened the pickle bottle and did other prosaic and ungodlike acts, and Bettina laid the table on the sands like a real girl instead of a transported nymph, yet each saw the other through a golden haze which magnified the most trivial act and made it important.

Thus, when Bettina set four blue bowls at exact geometric distances on the cloth, Justin thought not of the bowls, but of Bettina's slim white hands; and likewise Justin, gathering driftwood, commended himself to Bettina not for his industry, but for his swinging walk and square shoulders.

For several days Bettina had been heavy-hearted. She had not seen Anthony. He had called her up over the telephone, and had made his excuses; there was the little girl with the appendicitis and the old man with the pneumonia—how Bettina hated the repetition. He would come and see her as soon as possible, he promised, but he had not come.

Diana, too, had not been like herself. On the morning after Bettina's visit to Anthony's house she had not appeared until luncheon. She had looked like a ghost, and had been very busy all the afternoon. She had hinted at affairs which would take her to town for a time, and finally she had gone away. Even Mrs. Martens had seemed disturbed and restless. Hence Bettina had welcomed the invitation from Captain Stubbs. Justin's high spirits, his evident delight in her society, his anger at her rebuffs—these things soothed and flattered her. Above all there was the charm of his glorious youth. She found herself swayed to his mood. Might she not for one little fleeting moment dance to the tune that he piped?

Letting herself go, therefore, she was at luncheon bewildering in her beauty. Justin's mocking eyes grew tender as he watched her. Here was no pretty Beggar Maid for masculine condescension, but rather a little goddess to be put on a pedestal and worshiped.

Captain Stubbs and Miss Matthews, unconscious of the forces which were charging the air about them, ate their chowder and took their enjoyment placidly.

"A fish chowder," said the little captain, "never tastes so good in the house as it does out-of-doors, with the cod fresh caught, and with the smell of the sea for sauce."

Bettina passed her bowl for more.

"It is delicious," she said; "everything is—lovely."

"Isn't it?" said Justin. "There never was such a feast—there never was such a day——!"

Yet there had been many such days; there had been many such feasts. But not for them! It was the golden age of their existence. The moment of youth and joy, unmarred by disillusion.