He stopped. They were far from the crowd now. The walled island city bulked huge and dark, a medieval shadow against the night and the sea. The girl was a white wraith in the gloom, all astir with the salt wind that tumbled her hair and set her skirts to rippling. He did not speak to her, but stood there silently, trying to see her face in the starlight. After a while she asked him,
"What is in your mind?"
"I am waiting to see if you will vanish like the other Kerrel."
She laughed. "Kerrel is a rude man. I have offered myself to make amends. Surely you can't be angry now!"
It was his turn to laugh. "No. In fact, I'm thankful for your—by the way, what relation is he to you?"
"None."
"But you said—"
"It was a small lie, and it served its purpose."
"Well, anyway, I'm thankful for Kerrel's rudeness. I'd much rather talk to you!" His ill-humor was quite gone. He took her hand, and was amazed to find how strong it was. The girl seemed to radiate an immense vitality, an aliveness that made all the other women of his knowing appear like half-awakened clods.
"What do they call you," he asked, "who are not a Kerrel?"