“You seem rather confused,” said Clare gravely.
“Well, you know,” Brook answered as they walked along towards the dazzling green light that filled the door, “to tell the truth, between one thing and another—” He did not complete the sentence.
“Yes?” said Clare, sweetly. “Between one thing and another—what were you going to say?”
Brook did not answer as they went out into the hot, blossom-scented air, under the spreading vines.
“Do you mean to say it’s cooler here than indoors?” asked the young girl in a tone of resignation.
“Oh, it’s much cooler! There’s a breeze at the end of the walk.”
“The sea is like oil,” observed Clare. “There isn’t the least breath.”
“Well,” said Brook, “it can’t be really hot, because it’s only the first week in June after all.”
“This isn’t Scotland. It’s positively boiling, and I wish I hadn’t come out. Beware of first impulses—they are always right!”