She looked out over the shimmering moon-track on the water. “I—I never heard of such a thing.”
“Do you think the Creator makes anything bad?”
“Why—why I suppose not,” she returned, wonderingly.
“That’s the point; He doesn’t. It’s only us that make wrong out of his creations.”
A shrill whistle startled them.
“Billy! It can’t be time to go!” She started up.
“That must be the first whistle.” He looked at his watch and calmly pulled her back to the seat. “It’s only ten; ten-thirty is leaving time. If we start ten minutes before we’ll have scads of time.” He dropped his watch back into his coat pocket.
“That’s no place to carry a watch,” she chaffed as they readjusted themselves.
“Yes, it is, for I’m such a kid for dropping it when I bend over anything, a fire for instance. And then my coat is always off.”
They talked on, but of other matters. Both were relieved at the interruption of the tense moment, yet Erminie had a regret she could not understand. More than ever Billy attracted her because of his larger, deeper knowledge. He knew the forbidden things, things she only whispered about, yet on his lips they had a dignity, a purity unbounded. He never made silly jokes where reverence was due, yet never went out of his way to avoid anything that came in the natural course of conversation. He was the only one she knew who did this; and she wished she, too, might have such an open mind toward life.