Well, the next place he would be hunted to, like a hare run down, was home. It seemed impossible the morrow would take him back to Beatrice.
“This time tomorrow night,” he said.
“Siegmund!” she implored.
“Why not?” he laughed.
“Don’t, dear,” she pleaded.
“All right, I won’t.”
Some large steamer crossing the mouth of the bay made the water dash a little as it broke in accentuated waves. A warm puff of air wandered in on them now and again.
“You won’t be tired when you go back?” Helena asked.
“Tired!” he echoed.
“You know how you were when you came,” she reminded him, in tones full of pity. He laughed.