Perhaps she was half asleep after the weary watching of the night, or perhaps she was only too tired to notice, but when a voice suddenly spoke behind her she started as if at an electric shock. She had almost begun to feel that she and Columbus were indeed marooned on this wide shore.
"Are you waiting for the sea to carry you away?" the voice said. "Because you won't have to wait much longer now."
She turned as she sat. She had heard no sound of approaching feet. The swish of the waves had covered all beside. She looked up at him with a feeling of utter helplessness. "You!" she said.
He turned behind her, slim, upright, intensely vital, in the morning light. She had an impression that he was dressed in loose flannels, and she saw a bath-towel hanging round his neck.
"You have been bathing," she said.
He laughed down at her, she saw the gleam of the white teeth in his dark face. "I say, what a good guess! You look shocked. Is it wrong to bathe on Sunday?"
And then quite naturally he stretched a hand to her and helped her to her feet.
"I've been watching you for a long time," he said. "I was only a dot in the ocean, so of course you didn't see me. I say,—tell me,—what's the matter?"
The question was so sudden that it caught her unawares. She found herself looking straight into the dark eyes and wondering at their steady kindliness. She knew instinctively that she looked into the eyes of a friend, and as a friend she spoke in answer.
"I have had rather a worrying night. I came out for a little fresh air.
It was such a perfect morning."