He felt her arm trembling in his clasp, and a suspicious moisture glistened in her fine eyes.
“I think, somehow, I know you well enough to believe that you are in earnest,” she faltered. “But let us forget now that you have said those words. Come to me later—when your work is done—and if you care to repeat them—I shall—try to answer—as you would wish.”
And then, for a few hours, they lived in the Paradise that can be entered only by lovers.
Not that there were tender passages between them—squeezings, and pressings and the many phrases of silent languages that mean “I love you.” Neither was formed of the malleable clay that permits such sudden change of habit. Each dwelt rather in a dream–land—the man hoping it could be true that this all–pleasing woman could find it possible to surrender herself to him utterly—the woman becoming more alive each moment to the astounding consciousness that she loved and was beloved.
Their happiness seemed to be so fantastically complete that they made no plans for the future. They were wilfully blind to the shoals and cross currents that must inevitably affect the smooth progress of that life voyage they would make together. Rather, when they talked, did they seek to discover more of the past, of their common tastes, of their friends, of the “little histories” of youth. Thus did they weld the first slender links of sweet intimacy—those links that are stronger than fetters of steel in after years—and the hours flew on golden wings.
Once only did Warden hold Evelyn in his arms—in a farewell embrace ere she left him to join the yacht. And, when that ecstatic moment had passed, and the boat which held his new–found mate was vanishing into the gloom, he awoke to the knowledge that he had much to accomplish before he might ask her to be his bride.
But he thrust aside gray thought for that night of bliss. He almost sang aloud as he walked to the quay where Peter was waiting, after receiving a brief message earlier in the day. He was greeted cheerily.
“I’m main glad to see you again, sir,” said the skipper of the Nancy. “Somehows, I had a notion this mornin’ that we was goin’ to lose you for good an’ all.”
Then Warden remembered the inquiry he had sent to Ilfracombe, and the reply that was surely waiting for him at the post–office, and he laughed with a quiet joyousness that was good to hear.
“Peter,” he said, “you’re a first–class pilot, but neither you nor any other man can look far into the future, eh?”