"This is delicious," she said, with a sigh of content, turning her face towards the sea, and drinking in deep draughts of fresh, salt air.
Ruxton endeavored to gather his faculties, which had been completely scattered by the thrilling shock of the encounter. He felt himself to be like a callow youth of seventeen rather than a man of over thirty-five, a man whose public life had made intercourse with women of society a matter of every day.
"You have had a long walk?" he enquired wonderingly. "But at night? On these cliffs? You are ten miles from Dorby, and there is no habitation between—except Dorby Towers. Beyond this there is a village or two, but no railway for miles." He had made up his mind that she did not belong to this district. Her costume was still in his thoughts.
"I did not come from Dorby. Nor from any of those villages. Still, I have had a long walk. I have been on my feet nearly three hours."
As she offered no further explanation Ruxton urged her.
"Will you not explain—more?"
"Is it needed?"
The woman faced round, and her Eastern eyes were smiling frankly into his.
Ruxton had no alternative. He desired none. The situation had suddenly gripped him. He was caught in its toils, and delighted that it was so. This woman's beauty, her frank unconventionality, were wholly charming. He asked nothing better than that she should satisfy her whim, and sit there, beside him, talking—talking of what she pleased so long as he listened to the rich music in her voice, and could watch the play of her beautiful, mobile features.
"No," he said deliberately. "There is no need." Then he made a comprehensive gesture with one hand. "The night is beautiful, it is a night of romance and adventure. Let us forget there are such things as conventionality, and just—talk. Let us talk as this silver night prompts. Let us try and forget that painful thought which daylight brings us all. As you say, the night is the time of truth, while daylight demands the subterfuge which conceals it."