They were sitting on a bench under a great fir that overlooked a deserted playground, emerald green with new grass. They faced a sinking sun, a ball of molten fire on the far crest of Vancouver Island. Behind them the roar of traffic on downtown streets was like the faint murmur of distant surf.
"In a week," Hollister said. If there was an echo of regret in his voice he did not try to hide it. "It has been the best month I have spent for a long, long time."
"It has been a pleasant month," Doris agreed.
They fell silent. Hollister looked away to the west where the deep flame-red of low, straggling clouds shaded off into orange and pale gold that merged by imperceptible tints into the translucent clearness of the upper sky. The red ball of the sun showed only a small segment above the mountains. In ten minutes it would be gone. From the east dusk walked silently down to the sea.
"I shall be sorry when you are gone," he said at last.
"And I shall be sorry to go," she murmured, "but——"
She threw out her hands in a gesture of impotence, of resignation.
"One can't always be on a holiday."
"I wish we could," Hollister muttered. "You and I."