‘Poor old Bruno could hardly frighten a mouse,’ said Gillian.
‘Only take care, and don’t be enterprising.’
Gillian drove up to the door of Cliff House, and Kalliope took her seat. It was an enjoyable afternoon, with the fresh clearness of June sunshine after showers, great purple shadows of clouds flitting over the sea, dimpled by white crests of wave that broke the golden path of sunshine into sparkling ripples, while on the other side of the cliff road lay the open moorland, full of furze, stunted in growth, but brilliant in colour, and relieved by the purple browns of blossoming grasses and the white stars of stitchwort.
‘This is delicious!’ murmured Kalliope, with a gesture of enjoyment.
‘Much nicer than down below!’
‘Oh yes; it seems to stretch one’s very soul!’
‘And the place is so big and wide that no one can worry with sketching.’
‘Yes, it defies that!’ said Kalliope, laughing.
‘So, Fa—Captain Henderson won’t crop up as he does at every sketchable place. Didn’t you know he was here?’
‘Yes, Alexis told me he had seen him.’