“And when are you coming back again?”
“I think that depends upon you, Eva.”
The hand went back into the water. They were a mile or more from the shore now. Ernest manipulated the sail and tiller so as to sail slowly parallel with the coast-line. Then he spoke again.
“Eva.”
No answer.
“Eva, for God’s sake look at me!”
There was something in his voice that forced her to obey. She took her hand out of the water and turned her eyes on to his face. It was pale, and the lips were quivering.
“I love you,” he said, in a low, choked voice.
She grew angry. “Why did you bring me here? I will go home. This is nonsense; you are nothing but a boy!”
There are moments in life when the human face is capable of conveying a more intense and vivid impression than any words, when it seems to speak to the very soul in a language of its own. And so it was with Ernest now: he made no answer to her reproaches, but, if that were possible, his features grew paler yet, and his eyes, shining like stars, fixed themselves upon her, and drew her to him. And what they said she and he knew alone, nor could any words convey it, for the tongue in which they talked is not spoken in this world.