Jim was sleeping with his mouth a little open.

Now he was a sturdy straw-haired man of thirty, with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner.

In back of them was the close second-growth timber of the point and in front was the bay with the mouth of Hortons Creek.

Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.