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There was no anchorage off the beach where Williams landed, and McGuire was at the wheel while the schooner was being brought to.
Nada came on deck, dressed for a triumphant landing, though it was to be through the surf, and she must tramp a mile pretty well up-hill before astonishing her household. She felt a little ridiculous in such preposterous finery as a hat aglow with flowers and feathers, glittering with rhinestones, a tight-fitting jacket sort of waist with a row of large buttons down the front, a long, full skirt that both hands could hardly keep from trailing, white gloves that reached to her elbows; but she knew how her father would have pride if she came in such an array, and how the servants would gape. Her sparkling, polished shoes were tied together, and hung across her shoulders. For the walk up the trail she wore flat-footed slippers.
When McGuire from behind the wheel first saw her he said unkind things about her appearance; but she knew that he was in the dumps, and forgave him with laughter that was calculated to make him feel worse. Already they understood and liked each other well enough to pretend to quarrel.