"This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. "How?" cried her brother, starting. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting. You have told me that you cared. If only out of loyalty to co-education one has to do that. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad.
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