They were sitting by the sea, watching the sunset as the rich colours came over from the west, and touched the waves with tints of opal. "I've been doing it three or four years," she said, "and you are just beginning." Then with unknowing comprehension she went on. "Besides, what one accomplishes, doesn't matter in the least. It's the work that makes men and women of us."
The light which was reflected back from the surf made her face tender then, and leaning forward, with a simple reverence which she could not misunderstand, he kissed her hand.
The summer promised to be all too short. They studied and read together and criticised each other's work.
Hardy was fond of rowing, so they spent many hours together on the water. Constance sat on a cushion in the stern and read aloud, while Jack pulled vigorously or let the boat drift idly, as best suited his mood.
One day the book was absorbingly interesting, and one of the oars slipped into the softly-lapping water, and set out for lands unknown. Constance saw it first and her face changed. His eyes followed hers, but he sat quite still for a moment.
They were but a mile from shore and the tide was going in.
"We'll go in with it," she said bravely.
With the remaining oar Hardy turned the boat so as to catch the full force of the shoreward impulse, but in a very few minutes they saw the tide would not do as they wished.
A sudden cloud obscured the sun. The wind shifted and grew cold. Quick to act in an emergency, Jack took off his coat and shoes and tied the anchor rope under his arms. In an instant she saw what he was going to do.