Roland, who had exhausted the language of delight among the Outer Islands, contemplated this picture in silence.
'Do you not like it?' asked the girl.
'Like it?' he repeated. 'Armorel! It is splendid.'
'Will you make a sketch of it?'
'I cannot. I must make a picture. I ought to come here day after day. There must be a good place to take it from—over there, I think, on that beach. Armorel! It is splendid. To think that the picture is to be seen so near to London, and that no one comes to see it!'
'If you want to come day after day, Roland,' she said, softly, 'you will not be able to go away to-morrow. You must stay longer with us on Samson.'
'I ought not, child. You should not ask me.'
'Why should you not stay if you are happy with us? We will make you as comfortable as ever we can. You have only to tell us what you want.'
She looked so eagerly and sincerely anxious that he yielded.
'If you are really and truly sure,' he said.