"No." Minot bowed his head. "I know I must have looked rather silly of late. But if you think I did the things I've done because I chose to—you're wrong. If you think I did them because I didn't love you—you're wrong, too. Oh, I—"
"Mr. Minot!"
"I can't help it. I know it's indecently soon—I've got to tell you just the same. There's been so much in the way—I'm wild to say it now. I love you."
The water breaking on the ancient stones below seemed to be repeating "Sh—sh," but Minot paid no heed to the warning.
"I've cared for you," he went on, "ever since that morning on the train when we raced the razor-backs—ever since that wonderful ride over a God-forsaken road that looked like Heaven to me. And every time since that I've seen you I've known that I'd come to care more—"
The girl stood and stared thoughtfully out at the soft blue sea. Minot moved closer, over those perilous slippery rocks.
"I know it's an old story to you," he went on, "and that I'd be a fool to hope that I could possibly be anything but just another man who adores you. But—because I love you so much—"
She turned and looked at him.
"And in spite of all this," she said slowly, "from the first you have done everything in your power to prevent the breaking off of my engagement to Harrowby."
"Yes, but—"