“Sensible little woman, this of yours, William,” his uncle trumpeted approvingly, holding it open for me. “Knows there’s a time for everything.... All to yourself for good, presently; that’s been official for months now. Don’t you glower at me, lad, I saw you——”
The door shut behind me. But through it I heard Uncle Albert’s robustious: “Why! Bless my life! Anyone would think I’d interrupted you before you’d been engaged five minutes!”
POSTSCRIPT
FULL MOON
“This,” said Billy, taking in a full breath of the sea-scented air of Porth Cariad, “is better than your old idea of a Riviera honeymoon, Nancy!”
We had just walked down from the larger of the cottages towards the shore, and were watching that great primrose-coloured Chinese lantern of a moon rise slowly, slowly over the jagged, purple silhouette of the Carnarvonshire mountains into the pale mauve September dusk.
Presently it would cast a glittering path of light across the Bay of Many Waters, and throw a black shadow from the cliff of the wooden woman on to the sands of our cove. There was a soft lap-lapping of the high tide beneath us, and a softer scurrying of rabbits among the sand-hills; now and again a gull called, or we caught the distant shouts of the men in the fishing-boats putting out for the night.
Beyond these small sounds there was a great and brooding Peace; we were two hundred miles and more from the noise and sunshine and merriment of the morning, from the great green lawn sown with all the colour and movement of the wedding-party, living confetti!—from the white house, echoing with laughter, and voices—Theo’s above the rest—calling far after us: “Good luck! Good luck!”