While Aunt and Mrs. Saxby meander up and down the shore , leaving me free to a certain extent , I amuse myself by examining distant seas and coasts through it , thus getting a few peeps into a forbidden world . We see few people , although there is a large summer hotel about a mile up the beach . Our shore haunts do not seem to be popular with its guests . They prefer the rocks . This suits Aunt Martha admirably . I may also add that it does n't suit her niece -- but that is a matter of small importance . The first morning I noticed a white object on the rocks , about half a mile away , and turned my glass on it . There -- apparently within a stone 's throw of me -- was a young man . He was lounging on a rock , looking dreamily out to sea . There was something about his face that reminded me of someone I know , but I can not remember whom . Every morning he has reappeared on the same spot . He seems to be a solitary individual , given to prowling by himself . I wonder what Aunt would say if she knew what I am so earnestly watching through my glass at times . July Eleventh . I shall have to cease looking at the Unknown , I am afraid . This morning I turned my glass , as usual , on his pet haunt . I nearly fell over in my astonishment , for he was also looking through a spyglass straight at me , too , it seemed . How foolish I felt ! And yet my curiosity was so strong that a few minutes afterward I peeped back again , just to see what he was doing . Then he coolly laid down his glass , rose , lifted his cap and bowed politely to me -- or , at least , in my direction .
I dropped my XXXXX and smiled in a mixture of dismay and amusement .
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