"Can't you remember?" came back to him, in echo of the girl's voice, and he told her: "Yes, he could remember." Furthermore, to prove his good intentions, he asked her with his eyes shut: "Where are the moons?"
"There 's only one," the girl shouted into his ear.
"That all?" he said, fishing hazily for the words as before.
"It 's up there—there in the sky." She let down his head a little, so that the moon might come into his line of vision. "There ... do you see it?"
He saw it and shut hie eyes, turning his head away from the light.
"All right," he said, and added a dreamy "Thank you."
Something boomed out behind him, and he saw the girl's hand go up defensively above his head. Next moment cold trickles were wriggling down his face. Some rested on his eyelashes and blurred the moonlight.
"What 's that?" he asked complacently.
"It's the sea..." the girl cried into his ear, and wiped the wet tenderly from his face and lashes with an end of sleeve drawn into her palm by her fingers. "The tide is coming up. We must not stay here any longer. We shall be drowned if we do."
"Oh!" he said. Drowned, would they? What was drowning to a man who had been dead? And then, quite irrelevantly—its irrelevancy even puzzled himself, in a placid kind of way—"are there any mushrooms?"