“I liked that,” he told them, making the first remark (not a question) which he had yet made. “It seemed to me the best here.”
“Unquestionably,” said Lispenard. “There is poetry and feeling in it.”
Miss De Voe said: “That is not the one I should have thought of your liking.”
“That’s womanly,” said Lispenard, “they are always deciding what a man should like.”
“No,” denied Miss De Voe. “But I should think with your liking for children, that you would have preferred that piece of Brown’s, rather than this sad, desolate sand-dune.”
“I cannot say why I like it, except, that I feel as if it had something to do with my own mood at times.”
“Are you very lonely?” asked Miss De Voe, in a voice too low for Lispenard to hear.
“Sometimes,” said Peter, simply.
“I wish,” said Miss De Voe, still speaking low, “that the next time you feel so you would come and see me.”
“I will,” said Peter.