One day toward the end of August, Athalie, standing at the pier's end,
saw the huge incoming liner slowly warping to her berth; waited amid
the throngs in the vast sheds by the gangway, caught a glimpse of
Clive, lost him to view, then saw him again, very near, making his way
toward her. And then her hands were in his and she was looking into
his beloved eyes once more.

There were a few quick words of greeting spoken, tender, low-voiced;
the swift light of happiness made her blue eyes brilliant: "You tall, sun-bronzed, lazy thing," she said; "I never told you what
a distinguished looking man you are, did I? Well I'll spoil you by
telling you now. No wonder everything feminine glances at you," she
added as he lifted his hat to fellow passengers who were passing.

And during the customs' examination she stood beside him, amused,
interested, gently bantering him when he declared everything; for even
in Athalie were apparently the ineradicable seeds of that original
sin--which is in all femininity--the paramount necessity for
smuggling.

Once or twice he spoke aside to the customs' officer; and Athalie
instantly and gaily accused him of attempted bribery.

But when they were on their way to Spring Pond in a hired touring car
with his steamer trunk and suit-cases strapped behind, he drew from
his pockets the articles he had declared and paid for; and Athalie
grew silent in delight as she looked down at the single and lovely
strand of pearls.