"Rather nice, isn't it?" she said. "I'm not given to mooning out of doors; but I've spent several evenings here ... lately."
"It's sanctuary," Roy murmured; but his sigh was tinged with apprehension. Flinging off his hat, he reclined full length on the gentle slope, hands under his head, and let the healing rays flow into the deeps of his troubled being.
Rose sat upright beside him, her fingers locked loosely round one raised knee. She was troubled too, and quite at a loss how to begin.
"So you've not been going out much?" he asked, after a prolonged pause.
"No—how could I—with you, so unhappy, down there—and...."—She deliberately met his eyes; and the look in them impelled her to ask: "What is it, Roy—lurking in your mind?"
"Am I—to be frank?"
She shivered. "It sounds—rather chilly. But I suppose we'd better take our cold plunge—and get it over!"
"Well"—he hesitated palpably. "It was only a natural wonder—if you care ... all that ... now he's gone, how could you deliberately hurt him so—while he lived?"
She drew in her lip. It was going to be more unsteadying than she had foreseen.
"How can a woman explain to a man the simple fact that she is incurably—perhaps unforgivably—a woman?"