I told him that my clothes had been washed away, and that the
mermaid was in the same plight. I gave him implicit instructions
and, with her assistance, the numbers of our respective rooms.
He wrote it all down. He was to get some clothes for me himself,
and enlist the services of a chambermaid for my companion.

"Be as quick as you can," I said, as he turned to go. "You're
sure you'll know this cove again? They're all rather alike."

"That's all right, sir."

The next moment he was half-way up the path. If he had looked
back, he would have beheld the singular and doubtless pleasing
spectacle of the Mermaid and myself doing the real Argentine
tango along the stretch of yellow sand.

She did not see the blood on my hand for a minute or two. Then:

"My dear lad, what have you done to your hand?"

"Cut on the rocks, "I said laconically. "Nothing of any
consequence, I assure you. I shall be able to proceed home."

"After attention. Let me look at it."

And so it came about that, when the boots returned, my left hand
was bound up with a strip of chemise, and the bandage was tied
with the pale-pink ribbon that had lately lain upon the Mermaid's
shoulder.