"O, isn't it superb here this afternoon, Nan? And think that I didn't want to come."
"I like it ... Suppose we stayed forever."
"After all the hideousness of this Spring?"
"Let's not talk about it... I won't remember it. What's today?"
"I think it's the twentieth."
"Well, for me it's May first. I won't be cheated of my spring. I'm just going to begin it all over again. And practice! Fanshaw, if you only knew how I was going to practice!"
"Look down the coast now ... With the dark clouds and the rays from the sun and the sailboat and everything, isn't it exactly like one of those funny old English engravings? Seascapes they used to call them. Even to the musty color."
Nan's arm was against his arm. She had taken off her tailored jacket, and her round arm, faintly brownish against his grey tweed, was bare from above the elbow. She wore a sort of tunic of dull red silk with a little black embroidery on it that left a deep V at her neck and fell suavely over her slight breasts as she leaned back against the rock. A dizzying flush went through him as his eyes followed the shadowed curve of her neck to the sharp chin and up the oval contour of her cheeks. Her lips were parted. Suddenly he found her eyes, green and grey, very solemn, looking into his. His heart was thumping like mad in his chest. He gulped and looked away over the sea that was green and grey like her eyes. A quick inexplicable chill went down his spine. It was a moment before he could speak:
"Nan..." He paused, his tongue dry, "Nan, don't you think we need our tea?"
"Yes, come along," she said hoarsely, and jumped to her feet.