He tucked his hand under her arm and assisted her over the rocks. She slipped once, and clutched at him desperately, and nearly upset his balance as well as her own. When with difficulty he maintained his ground and succeeded in holding her up, they remained for a moment or two with his arms about her and laughed recklessly over the averted mishap.
“You’re so strong,” she said.
“It’s just luck,” he observed, “that we aren’t playing at mixed bathing instead of standing high and dry. There’s a certain excitement in walking on the rocks. I’m enjoying this.”
Brenda was enjoying it also; she felt rather sorry when they reached the sand and sat down, and, there being no longer a reason for the attention, he released her hand.
“I want you, if you will,” he said presently, “to give me some address that will find you after you leave here. I want to write to you—if I may.”
She was silent for a space. He was lying on the sand beside her, looking up into her face; while she hesitated she looked down at him.
“I thought it was a case of ships that pass in the night,” she said.
“No,” he answered quietly; “I never intended it should be that.”
“I can give you Mrs Graham’s address,” she said, after a further pause. “But that, of course, is only temporary.”
“How about your home address?” he suggested.