She let him lead her back along the broad boardwalk toward the hotel until they stood within the shadow of the huge boulder which for centuries has marked the outer boundary of the Bay of Moons. Beyond them the lights of the St. Catherine glimmered down the hill and on over the water, rimming with golden bubbles the outlines of the pier.
“Wildenai!” Out of the darkness his voice came to her, mocking, tender, wholly insistent. “Foolish, obstinate little lady! Can't you see how it's up to you,—up to the English to make amends? Honestly now, when he began it I don't imagine even that rascal Drake himself would have believed a family scrap could last the better part of four centuries. Don't you really think it's about time for you to call it off?”
And flinging her scruples to the winds, Miss Hastings suddenly decided that it was.