Mr. Cuthbert appeared to be ransacking the corners of his brain for words.
"I was watching you to-night at the table while Mr. Wing was talking to you. I don't believe you heard a thing he said."
"Such astuteness," she answered, smiling at him, "astounds me."
He laughed nervously.
"You're different than you've ever been since I've known you," he went on, undismayed. "I hope you won't think I'm making love to you. Not that I shouldn't like to, but I've got sense enough to see it's no use."
Her reply was unexpected.
"What makes you think that?" she asked curiously.
"Oh, I'm not a fool," said Mr. Cuthbert. "But if I were a poet, or that fellow Dewing, I might be able to tell you what your eyes were like to-night."
"I'm glad you're not," said Honora.
As they were going in, she turned for a lingering look at the sea. A strong young moon rode serenely in the sky and struck a path of light across the restless waters. Along this shimmering way the eyes of her companion followed hers.