"He's too sick, and it would bother him too much."
"Oh, very well," said Ruth Farraday.
"I didn't mean to be rude," Elizabeth said.
"You were, rather. I'd like to send your brother a message, you see, and I—I can't write to him. I've tried, and I can't. I don't want him to think I am altogether unappreciative. What message shall I send him, Elizabeth?"
"Send him your love, if you really mean it, and then not any message."
"I will. I do send him my love. I'm sorry he's sick. Wouldn't it be wise to say that?"
"I think so."
"Send him my love and tell him—oh, tell him he was a day too late."
"I will," said Elizabeth.
With one long, indrawn breath, Ruth Farraday turned and walked back along the beach.