The day was a long joy to her, so deep it might have made her pause to think.
They went to the hayfields, breathing in the scent of the fragrant grass; tossing it themselves, foolish, as children might have done; wandering off to the river where it whispered between rocky banks. A stretch of golden brown and silver clear, of dark shadow and plashing ripple, green-hued where the long weeds stretched their plumes beneath the water, eddying, swirling, gliding, until it spread out upon Trelawney Bay, and wandered lost amongst the sands, looking for the sea. Great ferns grew among the rocks; dog roses tangled in the hedges; sometimes a feeding trout would break a flat with his soft ploop-ploop as he sucked down the fly; or smaller fish would fling and plash in shallow places, making believe that they were great creatures as they fed.
Bertie had asked for the tea to be sent out to them. It came in a basket, and they lighted a spirit lamp, laying it out close to the shimmering sea.
Mrs Corydon had sent down wonderful cakes, splits and nun's puffs, and a jar of the inevitable cream. It was a feast eaten by two fools who forgot human nature.
They gave the basket to the boy, wandered on to the cliffs. Here, with a meadow rippling in waves of green behind them, they sat down. It was cooler now. They sat in the shade of a high bank with the blue, diamond-spangled water far below, emerald-hued and indigo, where it lapped in shadow by the cliff. With the salt scent of it mingling with the scent of grass and flowers and hot sun-baked turf. Gulls wheeled screaming softly. They were quite alone in the glory of the country.
Estelle, a little tired, lay back against the bank, dropped suddenly asleep; her slender browned hands lay close to Bertie; as she moved her head came almost against his shoulder, so that to make her more comfortable he moved a little to support it.
A sudden thrill ran through him; her nearness, the touch of her cheek against his arm; her childish trust and abandon. The thrill was one of content followed by fear. What was he learning to feel for this girl from South Africa, this mere friend and companion?
"Companion? Had Esmé ever been one?" Looking back he realized that there are two sorts of love; one when man is ruled by man alone, and one when passion and friendship can walk hand in hand; a pair, once mated, whom death alone can part.
He recalled his first meeting with his wife, and how her brilliant beauty had allured him.
How she had taken his worship carelessly, as a thing of every day; and how always she had relied on her beauty as the natural power of woman without dreaming of any other. A touch of her round arms about his neck, a hot kiss—these were her arguments—arguments which, until lately, had never failed. If he talked of outside things she would pout and yawn, and bring him back to the centre of the world—her beauty.