"Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear in the pine overhead?"
And then came Harding's growling baritone, avoiding any mention of cigars or cocktails and making answer—
"No! but the noise of the deep as it hollows the cliffs of the land."
Mrs. Harding—
"Is there a voice coming up with the voice of the deep from the strand,
One coming up with the song in the flush of the glimmering red?"
Mr. Harding—
"Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea."
Bingham was convulsed with inward laughter. May tried to smile a little—at the incongruity of the singers and the words they sang; but her thoughts were all astray. The Warden was here—so near!
No one else was in the least amused. Boreham was plainly worried, and was staring through his eyeglass at Bingham's back, behind which May Dashwood was half obliterated. Gwendolen Scott had only just caught sight of the Warden and had flushed up, and wore an excited look on her face. She was glancing at him with furtive glances—ready to bow. Now she caught his eye and bowed, and he returned the bow very gravely.
Lady Dashwood was leaning back in her chair listening with resigned misery.