"I wonder why I always feel sad just after sunset?" he remarked, after a pause.
"Do you?" said Wyn, quickly.
"Yes; do you?"
"To-night I do."
"I thought so."
"Our holidays are nearly over," said the girl, with a sigh. "I must go back to work again. I must utilize my material," she added, a little bitterly. "All the splendor of these sunsets must go into the pages of a novel, if I can reproduce it."
"It would go better into a poem," said Claud, tossing a pebble into the water.
"That is one fault I may venture to say I am without," remarked Wynifred. "I never write verses."
"I do; it amounts to a positive vice with me," returned he, coolly.
"I am sure I beg your pardon," she said, confused.