“We’ll leave them to fight it out.” And Mrs. Wyndwood laid her hand a moment on Matthew’s shoulder, thrilling him. They went out under the stars. She had taken only a light, fleecy wrap, beneath which the white shoulders were half defined, half divined. They went across the lawn and through the gate, and crunching lightly over the little pebbles, walked towards where the surf bubbled white in the grayness. All was very still, save for the eternal monotone of the sea. There were a few yellow glimmers from the villages on the cliffs. Far to the east a light-house sent watery rays across the night. They stood without speaking, in a religious ecstasy, breathing in the salt air.
At last the delicious silence was broken by her more delicious voice.
“I am so glad you came,” she said, simply.
His breast swelled painfully.
“You are very good to me.”
“Oh, I mean your cousin will have company.”
“Is that all?” he said, audaciously.
“And then, he likes to be with Miss Regan.”
“Is that all?”
She smiled.