Martin gave a guffaw.
"Joan," he said, "you ought to be sent to bed. Your eyes are too big and your colour too high. Stop this foolishness and let us take a turn on the river road. The moonlight is filling it—it's too rare to be overlooked."
So they went out, keeping together and talking happily until it was time to return to the house; there, Raymond managed to say to Joan, just as they were parting:
"This has been rather a shock, you know, I wish I could see you alone—for a moment."
She looked up at him, and all the mad daring was gone from her eyes.
"Is there anything to say?" she whispered. "Now or—ever?"
"Yes."
And Raymond knew that Joan would come back.
He sat on the broad porch, opening to The Gap, and smoked. The house grew still with that holy quietness that holds all love safe.
Then came a slight noise; someone was coming!