“There are other things about him,” she went on, “that I’ve noticed that other people’s fathers don’t do. He’s wonderful with animals, and yet he doesn’t seem really to care about them, or, at least, he only cares whilst they are in certain moods. And although they come to him so readily I often think that they are really afraid as I am.”
She began to think as she sat there. She had never spoken about it all to anyone before, and so it had never, as it were, materialised. She had never realised until now how badly she had wanted to talk to some one about it.
“Oh, you have been so fortunate,” she said, a little wistfully, “to have done so many things and seen so many people. Tell me about other girls, are they all beautiful? Do they dress beautifully?”
“No,” he said, looking at her. “They are very tiresome. I can’t be serious with girls as a rule. That’s why I like to be with you. You don’t mind a fellow being serious. Girls seem to think a man isn’t ever meant to drop his grin, and it gets jolly tiresome. Because, you know, life is awfully serious when you come to think about it. I’ve only realised,” he hesitated a moment, “during this last fortnight how wonderful it is. That’s, you know,” he went on hurriedly, “why I really like to be with men better. Now a fellow like Maradick understands what one’s feeling, he’s been through it, he’s older, and he knows. But then you understand too; it’s jolly funny how well you understand a chap.”
He dropped his oars for a moment and the boat drifted. They were rounding the point, and the little sandy beach for which they were making crept timidly into sight. There was perfect stillness; everything was as though it were carved from stone, the trees on the distant hill, the hanging curtain of sky, the blue mirror of the sea, the sharply pointed town. A flock of white sheep, tiny like a drifting baby cloud, passed for a moment against the horizon on the brow of the hill. There was a very faint sound of bells.
They were both very silent. The oars cut through the water, the boat gave a little sigh as it pushed along, there was no other sound.
They sat on the beach and made tea. Tony had thought of everything. There was a spirit lamp, and the kettle bubbled and hissed and spluttered. Tony busied himself about the tea because he didn’t dare to speak. If he said the very simplest thing he knew that he would lose all self-control. She was sitting against a rock with her dress spread around her.
She looked up at him with big, wide-open eyes.
“Your name is Tony, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yes,” he answered.