"I will be scrambling down," she declared. "It is not a difficult operation."
I joined her a few minutes later, and we set our faces toward the point of the bay. Over our heads the seagulls were lazily drifting and wheeling, the quiet sea stole almost noiselessly up the firm yellow sands. Farther over the marshes the larks were singing. Inland, men like tiny specks in the distance were working upon their farms. We walked for a while in silence, and I found myself watching my companion. Her head was thrown slightly back, she walked with all the delightful grace of youth and strength, yet there was a cloud which still lingered upon her face.
"These," I said abruptly "should be the happiest days of your life, Lady Angela. After all, is it worth while to spoil them by worrying about other people's doings?"
"Other people's doings?" she murmured.
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Selfishness, you know, is the permitted vice of the young—and of lovers."
"Blenavon can scarcely rank amongst the other people with me," she said.
"He is my only brother."
"Colonel Ray is to be your husband," I reminded her, "which is far more important."
She turned upon me with flaming cheeks.
"You do not understand what you are talking about, Mr. Ducaine," she said, stiffly. "Colonel Ray and I are not lovers. You have no right to assume anything of the sort."