Then there was a pause, which Eve broke by first giving a nervous, half-suppressed sigh, and then saying, "It's very dark to-night, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Adam, who had been thinking how he should best begin his subject. "I thought the mist was going to clear off better than this, but that seems to look like dirty weather blowing up;" and he pointed to the watery shroud behind which lay the waning moon.
"I wish a storm would come on," said Eve: "I should so like to see the sea tossing up and the waves dashing over everything."
"What! while we two are sitting here?" said Adam, smiling.
"No: of course I don't mean now, this very minute, but some time."
"Some time when I'm away at sea?" put in Adam.
Eve gave a little shudder: "Not for the world! I should be frightened to death if a storm came on and you away. But you don't go out in very bad weather, do you, Adam?"
"Not if I can help it, I don't," he answered. "Why, would you mind if I did?" and he bent down so that he could look into her face. "Eh, Eve, would you?"
His tone and manner conveyed so much more than the words that Eve felt it impossible to meet his gaze. "I don't know," she faltered. "What do you ask me for?"
"What do I ask you for?" he repeated, unable longer to repress the passionate torrent which he had been striving to keep under. "Because suspense seems to drive me mad. Because, try as I may, I can't keep silent any longer. I wanted, before I said more, to ask you about somebody you've left behind you at London; but it's of no use. No matter what he may be to you, I must tell you that I love you, Eve—that you've managed in this little time to make every bit of my heart your own."