Well, they never had. Here he was, twenty-six, and assistant manager of the accounting department of a machine belting company; a quiet, competent young[Pg 517] fellow with an air of businesslike reserve that disguised the moods of his exacting and sensitive spirit. He went to the office every day, he worked, he came home, he met those “nice girls.” He talked to them and danced with them, and sometimes made love to them a little, out of politeness; and that was all there was.
And it wasn’t enough. Out here, in the summer night, his restlessness grew intolerable. He wanted so much more—something stirring and lovely, something that would give to his work and his life a fine significance. So much more!
“I’d better go back now,” he thought, and tried to pretend that this was a concession to his sister. But it was not; it was because he had grown too lonely. He got up, and was about to kick out the fire, to scatter it and stamp it out, when, far down the beach, he saw a little white figure coming toward him.
He stood still, curiously intent. He had grown to think that this was his own private territory, for hardly any one else came here, especially after dark; yet here was this little thing coming on resolutely.
It was a girl in a white dress—he could see that now. Her step made no sound upon the sand. There was no breeze to flutter her skirts. She was like a wraith, silent and dim.
Then, to his surprise, she turned directly toward him. There was a rise in the beach here, up from the edge of the sea, and she mounted it briskly.
“Excuse me,” she said, in a serious little voice. “I just wanted to see the time.”
Stretching out her arm toward the fire, she looked at her wrist watch.
“You’ll have to come nearer,” Kirby told her. “I’m sorry, but mine’s stopped.”
But she stood where she was.