The Howards and Cliff were lying under the sunshades when John Grandin arrived on the beach. Billie was sitting up, her hands on her hips, in the middle of explaining something with wide-­eyed amazement.

“Imagine! I forgot,” she exclaimed; “I simply forgot! Isn’t it the limit? And to get that autograph was almost the only reason why I wanted to go to the dance in the first place. But somehow, I don’t know why or how—”

“Toni Lansing didn’t count for very much last evening, it turned out,” Sarah Howard said. “And neither did anyone else. Nobody except the boys . . .”

“I don’t know about you-­all, but I-­all wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” Bill Howard said. “Boy, you certainly knocked ’em dead, Cliff, in that street cleaner’s outfit of yours.—Hi, John! Where’s the good wife?”

Grandin sat down. “I believe Ethel had some errands to do, at the drugstore. I expect she’ll be along later.” He did not care to say that he had not found her anywhere in the hotel, though he had waited in the room again after breakfast. “What time did you get home last night, Billie?” he said.

“Oh, not till all hours.”

“We missed you,” Cliff said. “Gee, you didn’t even say good night, Johnnie.”

“You were having too good a time. Ethel and I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother us! After we all went together and everything?”

“Well, if you don’t know what I mean,” Grandin said coldly, “I can’t explain it.”

As once before, he was aware that Hauman was offended; but hurting Cliff’s feelings was something Grandin felt he could no longer avoid. That was one of the consequences of getting involved with sentimental all-­enveloping people like the marine; they bowled one over with their thoughtless or unthinking attention, and then when one wanted to ignore them or go on with the business of life in one’s own way, they were hurt. He knew it was as much his fault as Cliff’s; but he also knew it wasn’t he alone who had kept the impossible relationship so feverishly alive.