"Then it's Casey's with the foreleg, I suppose. We're down two," said Basil.
"It is not," said Keefe, with deepening complexion.
"Slattery's, then. It had such a cold, the remount man wouldn't look at it. They're are the only two bays."
"I will double them," said the Professor viciously, and was almost put out, holding five spades, to find that he had not heard correctly.
Basil Stafford offered to see Gheena home.
It was nearly full-tide; the harbour gleamed under the moonlight, with the shadows black as ink.
The ceaseless voices of the sea whispered through the calm—the distant creak of a boat at anchor, the lap and suck of the tide, the cry of sleepless birds.
Oars plashed, leaving a trail of phosphorescent light, low voices echoed.
"The Guinanes come back for a second load," said Gheena. "Good night. I'll go up from the bathing pool."
She heard his footsteps as he went away, not back to the village, but down along the beach. She saw him light a cigarette for a moment, and then disappear into the black shadows of the cliff.