"Oh, well, perhaps she might now and then; but she would have her house to look after, and all her friends would be near her."
"On stormy nights," said Robert, musingly.
"How very serious you are! Such a lovely day, too—a nice time to be talking about stormy nights! Of course there are stormy nights, but the boats can run into harbour, and if they cannot, the men are not always drowned."
"Certainly not; how foolish, and to think of coming home after five or six weeks on the Doggerbank—oh me! But here is the very rock where we sat the other morning. I am sure you are tired, let us sit down again; your hair is not dry yet."
They sat down.
"It is quite wet still," and Robert ventured to touch it, putting his hand underneath it.
"An awful plague it is! Horrid sandy-coloured stuff, and such a nuisance in the water! I think I shall have it cut short."
"I am sure you won't. Sandy-coloured! it is beautiful."
Miss Shipton tossed her parasol about, shaking her hair loose from his fingers.
"When it is spread out in the sunshine," said Robert, as he separated a little piece of it between his fingers, "the sun shows its varying shades. How lovely they are!" His hand went a little higher, till it touched the back of her neck.