“It's been so all day,” she thought impatiently; “I've exaggerated; I've worked up a scene about a man whose habits are not the slightest concern of mine. Besides that I've neglected Howard shamefully!” She was walking slowly, her thoughts outstripping her errant feet, but it seemed that neither her thoughts nor her steps were leading her toward the neglected gentleman within; for presently she found herself at the breezy veranda door, looking rather fixedly at the stars.
The stars, shining impartially upon the just and the unjust, illuminated the person of Siward, who sat alone, rather limply, one knee crossed above the other. He looked up by chance, and, seeing her star-gazing in the doorway, straightened out and rose to his feet.
Aware of him apparently for the first time, she stepped across the threshold meeting his advance half-way.
“Would you care to go down to the rocks?” he asked. “The surf is terrific.”
“No—I don't think I care—”
They stood listening a moment to the stupendous roar.
“A storm somewhere at sea,” he concluded.
“Is it very fine—the surf?”
“Very fine—and very relentless—” he laughed; “it is an unfriendly creature, the sea, you know.”
She had begun to move toward the cliffs, he fell into step beside her; they spoke little, a word now and then.