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Mrs. Norris and the other girls drew away, walking slowly along the beach in the direction of the school. It was quite marked, the appropriation of Betty, yet in those times a few precious moments, with friends perhaps so soon to go across, were of first importance.

“Wasn’t that good of her? Betty, I’ve got your dear little picture safe in here,” and Donald patted the place where his heart was supposed to be. “I live on your letters, and haven’t been where I could get them for a week or two. We’re on a little detail with some secret service men. I can’t tell you about it now, and please don’t mention the secret service.”

“I won’t,” said Betty, rather dazed. “Are you really here, or not?”

“I am. This is me, in the language of the poet. We may be in these parts for a while, cruising around, and we may not. We are going to pretend to leave anyway, and you will see the old tub steaming away shortly. If I get a chance, I’m going to come again. Will you be glad to see me?”

“Oh, yes, Donald, you know I will.” Betty did not know just how glad she would be the next time she was to see him.