Cheveril, however, paused in a conversational attitude. He had not risked his property for nothing.
"A pretty little place, this," he said. "I suppose you are a visitor here like myself?"
"I'm leaving to-morrow," was the somewhat grudging rejoinder.
"I only came this afternoon," said Cheveril. "Is there anything to see here?"
"There's the sea and the lighthouse," his companion told him curtly—"nothing else."
Cheveril smiled faintly to himself in the darkness.
"Try one of these cigarettes," he said sociably. "I don't enjoy smoking alone."
He was aware, as his unknown friend accepted the offer, that he would have infinitely preferred to refuse.
"Been here long?" he asked him, as they plunged through the shingle towards the sand.
"I've lived here nearly all my life," was the reply. And, after a moment, as if the confidence would not be repressed: "I'm leaving now—for good."