“I tell you, yes.”
“And I tell you I’m very doubtful. A mere child, a country girl, ignorant of the world, ignorant, perhaps, of what marriage means! It’s a hard position for me, and it may be worse—it may be horrible—for her.”
“Ask her,” repeated Danton. “Look there!” He levelled his walking-stick. “Do you see the dunes there—the second hill? Somewhere beyond that you’ll find Madge and Betty.”
Without another word, Fessenden pulled his cap over his eyes and strode off.
He skirted the first hillock, and on its farther side came abruptly upon Madge Danton. She gave him a warm hand. Her eyes had lost their defiant look; rather, it seemed to him, they included the world in their gentle glance.
“You’ll find her beyond the next hill,” she said.
“You’ve talked to her—as Danton talked to me?”
“Yes. She understands—her position. I know I don’t need to warn you to be—careful.”
“No, no.”
He did not find Betty beyond the next hill, nor the next. But, hastening down the hollow ways, he almost stumbled over her at last—on a sunny slope above the sea.