"Yes, didn't you know?"
"I hadn't thought. I wondered a little at the time. I was foolish enough, perhaps, to think they might be for your own pleasure."
"They were for my pleasure, too."
"Aren't the waves fine to-night? They will be even more mysterious in the moonlight. Do you know Kipling's 'White Horses'? It begins, 'Where run your colts to pasture?'"
"I know it and love it." He leaned toward the hammock and gently swung it as Gwen sat there with dangling feet. "I specially like that line, 'But most the deep sea-meadows, all purple to the stars.'"
"I like it all. 'By lightless reef and channel, and crafty coastwise bars.' Isn't that perfect? It pleases me as a whole, more than any other of Kipling's, and up here I am continually repeating parts of it to myself. That is my summons to supper. Won't you join us, Mr. Hilary? We are having mushrooms to-night."
"I have had my supper, thank you. We take it early on account of the children. Don't let me keep you from yours, Miss Whitridge." He raised his cap and went on. Gwen drew a short, sharp sigh as she turned toward the door. "Why must millionaires be built upon such unfortunate lines?" she said to herself. "Imagine discussing 'White Horses' with Cephas. Oh dear, what should we find to talk about when the dark November evenings come? Probably his mind has its point of contact if one could discover it. I shall see to-morrow maybe." And she went in.
Meanwhile Kenneth Hilary walked slowly over the grassy hillocks, passed through a stile, and skirted the little beach which was nearly covered by the flood tide. Further along he took a winding path over the hill, but instead of turning down the cove road, he sauntered along that leading to the extreme end of the island. The stars were coming out, the birds had hushed their evening song. Only the rush of waves sounded in his ears. From the cottages along shore twinkling lights gleamed out. The young man took a pipe from his pocket, filled and lighted it, and then continued his walk till he reached the point where nothing but the sea lay beyond him. And just here he became aware that some one else was walking that way, some one who joined him as he stood looking off at Halfway Light, flashing red, then white, a sailor's beacon. A bell-buoy out beyond the reefs sounded a melancholy note now and then as the incoming tide swung the clapper from side to side. To the left a faint illumination in the sky prophesied the appearance of the rising moon.
"Fine evening, Mr. Hilary," said Luther Williams, after a moment's silence. "You don't get at it quite the same way in the city, do you?"
"It doesn't get at us in quite the same way either," returned Kenneth. "I tell you, Mr. Williams, a man has to have a pretty clean record when he faces himself in a place like this, and on a night like this. He can't stand himself if he doesn't have rather a fair page."