"Yes," she said. "I often come up here. I have been sitting here for half an hour."
MacRae sat down beside her. His heart seemed to be trying to choke him. He did not know where to begin, or how, and there was much he wanted to say that he must say. Betty did not even take her chin out of her palms. She stared out at the sea, rolling up to Squitty in silver windrows.
MacRae put one arm around her and drew her up close to him, and Betty settled against him with a little sigh. Her fingers stole into his free hand. For a minute they sat like that. Then he tilted her head back, looked down into the gray pools of her eyes, and kissed her.
"You stood there looking down at the sea as if you were in a dream," she whispered; "and all the time I was crying inside of me for you to come to me. And presently, I suppose, you will go away."
"No," he said. "This time I have come for good."
"I knew you would, sometime," she murmured. "At least, I hoped you would. I wanted you so badly."
"But because one wants a thing badly it doesn't always follow that one gets it."
MacRae was thinking of his father when he spoke.
"I know that," Betty said. "But I knew that you wanted me, you see. And I had faith that you would brush away the cobwebs somehow. I've been awfully angry at you sometimes. It's horrible to feel that there is an imaginary wall between you and some one you care for."
"There is no wall now," MacRae said.