He answered after a pause: “People do die.”
“Do they?” She laughed. “Yes—in happy marriages!”
They were silent again, and Isabel turned, feeling her way toward the door. As she did so, the profound stillness was broken by the sound of a man’s voice trolling out unsteadily the refrain of a music-hall song.
The two in the boat-house darted toward each other with a simultaneous movement, clutching hands as they met.
“He’s coming!” Isabel said.
Wrayford disengaged his hands.
“He may only be out for a turn before he goes to bed. Wait a minute. I’ll see.” He felt his way to the bench, scrambled up on it, and stretching his body forward managed to bring his eyes in line with the opening above the door.
“It’s as black as pitch. I can’t see anything.”
The refrain rang out nearer.
“Wait! I saw something twinkle. There it is again. It’s his cigar. It’s coming this way—down the path.”