“It’s a perfect night,” he said. “The moon is full and there’s hardly a cloud to be seen; only a few of fleecy white that scud along as if ashamed to interrupt the light.”
“Do you realize, sir, that if you should change that sentence a trifle you would have a verse for a poem?” laughingly said Bella Caceras. “But you are right. It is lovely. Let’s all go. The evening is warm and we do not need any wraps, do we, Rosita?”
“I think not,” and rising, Miss Dartmoor joined her friend, then all passed out the door and down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” called Mr. Dartmoor, from the billiard room.
“To the beach, father,” answered Louis.
“Don’t be gone long.”
“No, sir; not over a half hour.”
It was the first time the five had visited Mar Bravo beach since the happy days preceding the blockade, when these evenings at Chucuito were of frequent occurrence.
“This does seem good!” exclaimed Harvey, as he sat down on a circular, flat-topped stone, as near the line where spray dashed as he could venture without being wet.
“What did you say?” called Bella Caceras, who was seated somewhat above him.