“I think so. I meant no criticism—”
“Wait, Mr. Siward!” as he moved slowly toward the path. “You force me to say other things, which you have no right to hear.... After last night”—the vivid tint grew in her face—“after such a night, is it not—natural—for a girl to creep off somewhere by herself and try to think a little?”
He had turned full on her; the answering colour crept to his forehead.
“Is that why?” he asked slowly.
“Is it not a reason?”
“It was my reason—for being here.”
She bit her bright lip. This trend to the conversation was ominous, and she had meant to do her drifting alone in still sun-dreams, fearing no witness, no testimony, no judgment save her own self in court with herself.
“I—I suppose you cannot go—now,” she reflected innocently.
“Indeed I can, and must.”
“And leave me here to dig in the sand with my heels? Merci!”