"You've lived in a city, perhaps?"—he was astonished at his boldness, but her whole manner seemed to invite conversation.
"That's just it," she replied. "And after New York this place seems a trifle dull and quiet."
"I should think so," he said, with a laugh. "Why, even natives like myself find it almost insufferable at times."
"Then why do you stay here? Why don't you go right away where the pulse of life beats more quickly?"
"Ah! that question is not easy to answer," he said, looking out over the fire-flecked sea. "Our home is here, our work lies here. Beyond is a great unknown. Many have gone out and have never returned."
"Got lost, eh?" she questioned, with a musical laugh.
"Lost to us who have remained," he answered. "Some have prospered, I have no doubt. Some have failed, and died in obscurity and neglect. Better, perhaps, endure the ills we have than fly to others we know not of."
"Well, yes, I guess there's truth in that," she answered, raising frankly her soft brown eyes to his. "Yet there's always fascination in the unknown, don't you think so?"
"No doubt of it."
"That's the reason, I expect, why I'm just aching to explore these cliffs, and the caves of which Sir Charles says there's any number."