Then she turned, leaned on her elbow, and looked up at him—then she looked down.
“What made you think I was botherin’ about Sellers?” asked Jude.
“I don’t know,” said Ratcliffe, “I just thought it. I’ve been thinking a lot about you—I care for you a lot, that’s about it.”
She looked up at him again, full in the eyes, and with a new expression he had never seen before, a puzzled, half-startled look, like that of a person suddenly awakened in strange surroundings.
Then her eyes fell away from him.
She took a handful of sand and let the grains fall between her fingers.
“Just that,” said Ratcliffe.
She was still playing with the sand, letting it fall between her fingers carefully as though trying to count the grains. Then she threw the stuff away, brushed the palm of her hand clean, and sat up. Drawing a little closer to her, he put his hand round her waist, just as he had done when they were on the sandspit, and just as on the sandspit, she let it rest there—for a moment. Then, with a queer little laugh, she removed the hand and struggled to her feet.
He rose up and they went on, without a word. Then presently they began to talk about indifferent matters almost as though nothing had occurred.
They found a nest of turtles’ eggs, and Jude marked it; farther along they came upon something strange, a sort of platform half-covered with sand. Jude said it was the foretop of a ship sunk and sanded over.