His heart throbbed with impatience for her coming. Come she would; it was not in Rhoda’s nature to play tricks; if she had not meant to meet him she would have said so resolutely, as last night.
At a few minutes past the hour he looked landward, and saw her figure against the golden sky. She came down from the sandbank very slowly, with careless, loitering steps. He moved but a little way to meet her, and then stood still. He had done his part; it was now hers to forego female privileges, to obey the constraint of love. The western afterglow touched her features, heightening the beauty Everard had learnt to see in them. Still she loitered, stooping to pick up a piece of seaweed; but still he kept his place, motionless, and she came nearer.
“Did you see the light of sunset on the mountains?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“There has been no such evening since I came.”
“And you wanted to sit at home with a book. That was no close for a perfect day.”
“I found a letter from your cousin. She was with her friends the Goodalls yesterday.”
“The Goodalls—I used to know them.”
“Yes.”
The word was uttered with significance. Everard understood the allusion, but did not care to show that he did.