“Once you asked me a question,” he said. “We separated because I refused to answer you.”
She closed her eyes and the color flooded her face.
“I shall never ask it again,” she said.
But he went on: “I refused to reply. I was an ass; I had theories, too. They’re gone, quite gone. I will answer you now, if you wish.”
Her face burned. “No! No, don’t—don’t answer me; don’t, I beg of you! I—I know now that even the gods—” She covered her face with her hands. The boat drifted rapidly on; it was flood-tide.
“Yes, even the gods,” he said. “There is the answer. Now you know.”
Overhead the sky grew pink; wedge after wedge of water-fowl swept through the calm evening air, and their aërial whimpering rush sounded faintly over the water.
“Kathleen!”
She made no movement.
Far away a dull shock set the air vibrating. The Dione was saluting her castaways. The swift Southern night, robed in rose and violet, already veiled the forest; and the darkling water deepened into purple.