She was tired, as if she had cut through ropes which had held her erect and taut. She could feel the slight movement of muscles in the arm under her cheek, as Charles sucked away at his pipe. The soft darkness seemed to move up close and sweet about them, with faint rustles in the grass at her feet. Queer that just loving couldn't be enough, when it had such sweetness. Her thoughts drifted off in a warm, tranquil flood of emotion; her self was gone, washed out in this nearness, this quiet. Charles stirred, and unconsciously she waited for a sign from him out of the perfect, enclosed moment.
He spoke.
"I want you to meet Miss Partridge when you come back to town. Great head she's got. We're using her plan of organization in the small towns."
Catherine sat very still. After an instant she lifted her head from his shoulder and yawned audibly.
"I'm sleepy. The day has been so warm," she said, and rose. She kicked against something metallic and stooped to pick up Letty's red pail and shovel, as she passed into the house.
III
"Dark o' the moon! Dark o' the moon! Dark—Mother, see what I found!" Spencer broke his slow chant with a squeal, and dangled above his head the great purple starfish. Sure-footed, like a lithe brown sea animal, he darted over the slippery golden seaweed toward Catherine, who looked up from the shallow green pool over which she had been stooping.
"Lemme see too!" Marian's dark head rose from behind a rock and she stumbled after her brother. Plump! she was down in the treacherous kelp, her serious face scarcely disconcerted. Marian always slipped on the seaweed.
"Isn't he 'normous? He's the 'normousest yet." Spencer laid the star on the rock, bending over to straighten one of the curling arms.