"And what of her?"
"'That to the deth myn herte is to her holde,'—yes, for ever and ever," says Desmond, solemnly.
"I am very glad of that," says [Monica], simply; and then she raises herself from his embrace and looks straight down to the sea again.
At this moment voices, not approaching but passing near them, reach their ears.
"They are going in," says Monica, hurriedly, and with a regret that is very grateful to him. "We must go too."
"Must we?" reluctantly. "Perhaps," brightening, "they are only going to try the effect higher up."
"No. They are crossing the gravel to the hall door."
"They are devoid of souls, to be able to quit so divine a view in such hot haste. Besides, it is absurdly early to think of going indoors yet. By Jove, though!" looking at his watch, "I'm wrong: it is well after eleven. Now, who would have thought it?"
"Are you sure you mean eleven?" with flattering incredulity.
"Only too sure. Hasn't the time gone by quickly? Well, I suppose I must take you in, which means candles and bed for you, and a dreary drive home for Kelly and me, and not a chance of seeing you alone again."