'Of course I am really and truly sure. The weather will be fine, I think, and we will go sailing every day.'
'Then I will stay a day or two longer. I will make a picture of Cromwell's Castle—and the hill at the back of it and the water below it. I will make it for you, Armorel; but I will keep a copy of it for myself. Then we shall each have a memento of this day—something to remember it by.'
'I should like to have the picture. But, oh! Roland!—as if I could ever forget this day!'
She spoke with perfect simplicity, this child of Nature, without the least touch of coquetry. Why should she not speak what was in her heart? Never before had she seen a young man so brave, so gallant, so comely: nor one who spoke so gently: nor one who treated her with so much consideration.
He turned his face: he could not meet those trustful eyes, with the innocence that lay there: he was abashed by reason of this innocence. A child—only a child. Armorel would change. In a year or two this trustfulness would vanish. She would become like all other girls—shy and reserved, self-conscious in intuitive self-defence. But there was no harm as yet. She was a child—only a child.
As the sun went down the bows ran into the fine white sand of the landing-place, and their voyage was ended.
'A perfect day,' he murmured. 'A day to dream of. How shall I thank you enough, Armorel?'
'You can stay and have some more days like it.'