"You surprised to see me? But you ain't able to see me. Are you?"
"No."
"You ain't surprised?"
Down there at the base of the chalk cliffs the sea was still; waiting.
"You—shouldn't—have—come."
"Why—you don't mean;—you ain't trying to tell me;—you—don't—want—me—here?"
Great beads of moisture trickled down across his eyes.
"Little girl—; I just said you shouldn't have come. Not up here in this kind of weather."
"Oh, the weather!" She laughed. "I ain't the one to mind the weather, Mister."
Again he reached his hand out in front of him in an effort to rend the suffocating thickness of the fog. His fingers touched her arm and closed over it. From below him came the repeated warning roar of the waves.