He must move from this spot, forever now to be associated with black disillusion.

He arose from his seat and was dismayed to hear a hail from the Montague girl.

Was he never to be free from her?
She was poised at a little distance, one hand raised to him, no longer the drenched victim of a capricious Rosenblatt, but the beaming, joyous figure of one who had triumphed over wind and wave.

He went almost sullenly to her while she waited.

No good trying to escape her for a minute or so.
"Hello, old Trouper! You're just in time to help me hunt for something." She was in the familiar street suit now, a skirt and jacket of some rough brown goods and a cloth hat that kept close to her small head above hair that seemed of no known shade whatever, though it was lighter than dark.