THE SOUFFLEUR IN LITTLE SARK
Twenty times they watched it roar up into the sky, and then they crawled back up the face of the cliff, wind-whipped and rosy-faced, and with the taste of salt in their mouths.
"That is a fine sight," said Margaret, with sparkling eyes and diamond drops in her wind-blown hair. He thought he had never seen her so absolutely lovely before. He had certainly never seen anyone to compare with her.
"That's the Souffleur—the blow-hole. There's a bigger one still in Saignie Bay, we'll look it up if the wind gets round to the north-west. I'm glad you've seen this one. It was just a chance."
"I'm blow-holed all to rags, and, Meg, your hair is absolutely disgraceful," said Miss Penny. So differently may different eyes regard the same object, especially when the heart has a say in it. He would have given all he was worth for an offered lock of that wind-blown hair.
As Margaret turned she caught his eye, perhaps caught something of what was in it.
"Am I as bad as all that?" she laughed in rosy confusion.
"You're"—he began impetuously, but caught himself in time.—"You're all right. When you go to see the Souffleur you must expect to get a bit blown."
"It's worth it," she said. "And I'm sure we're much obliged to you for taking us. We could never have got there alone."