"Look at me, dear!"
Leonie looked straight into the honest grey eyes, and the fear died out of her own as she met the steady gaze.
"I'm slow, dear, dead slow, plodding I suppose they'd call me, but once
I'm on to something I never let go until I've won. Things are black,
sweetheart, but something is telling me that I shall find a way out.
When—when is——"
Leonie lied.
It was beyond her power of will to place a limit to her sudden newborn happiness; she would not give a definite date, and relying on the certainty that the man would never allow anyone to gossip to him about the wedding, she lied—deliberately.
"Oh! there's plenty of time, don't let's talk about it."
She sprang to her feet and flung out her arms to the sea.
"Let's forget, Jan, let's forget! Let's steal something from Fate and be happy. Let's be friends, pals; we can't be anything else, because I am in honour bound. And—and—I'm so hungry "—she turned her radiant, laughing face to him—"I'll race you to Barricane for tea."
She was off as she spoke, with Cuxson close behind. They jumped from rock to rock, they slipped, they slithered, they splashed up to their knees in pools and out again.
The man did not break the compact when he caught her in the shadow of the wreck and drew her into the shelter of his arms.