"Norah wouldn't let me do anything I shouldn't do."
She smiled down at me, still sad, but with the least little flicker of irony on the top of her sadness. "Norah's job isn't very hard. You don't ever want to do anything you shouldn't."
"Oh—don't I?"
"No, never. That's the pull you have over naughty people like me. You're so good."
"It wasn't my goodness you were rubbing into me the other night."
"Never mind the other night. It doesn't matter what I said the other night. Only what I'm saying now this minute has any importance. But it was your goodness, if it comes to that."
"Queer sort of goodness." I was still, you see, a little stung.
"All goodness," she said, "is queer, carried to that pitch. But you're a dear in spite of it. I won't bully you."
We made the last part of the crossing on the highway of the sunset. The propeller lashed through crimson and fiery copper, and the white wake tossed on to the highway turned to rose and gold and its edges to purple.
I had left her again and I called to her to look at this wonder of the sky and sea; but she shook her head at me. There was no need to call her. She had looked. I could see by her eyes that the intolerable beauty had brought Jevons back to her. He was there for her in all beauty and in all wonder.