“Do you mean—”
“I certainly do, Mr. Siward. I don't want to dream, now; I don't care to reflect. I did, but here you come blundering into my private world and upset my calculations and change my intentions! It's a shame, especially as you've been lying here doing what I wished to do for goodness knows how long!”
“I'm going,” he said, looking at her curiously.
“Then you are very selfish, Mr. Siward.”
“We will call it that,” he said with an odd laugh.
“Very well.” She seated herself on the sand and calmly shook out her skirts.
“About what time would you like to be called?” he asked smilingly.
“Thank you, I shall do no sun-dreaming.”
“Please. It is good for you.”
“No, it isn't good at all. And I am grateful to you for waking me,” she retorted with a sudden gay malice that subdued him. And she, delicate nose in the air, laughingly watching him, went on with her punishment: “You see what you've done, don't you?—saved me from an entire morning wasted in sentimental reverie over what might have been. Now you can appreciate it, can't you?—your wisdom in appearing in the flesh to save a silly girl the effort of evoking you in the spirit! Ah, Mr. Siward, I am vastly obliged to you! Pray sit here beside me in the flesh, for fear that in your absence I might commit the folly that tempted me here.”