were quite alone, in this great white niche thrust out to sea. Here, he could see, the tide would beat the base of the wall. It came plunging not far from their feet.
“Would you really like to travel beyond the end?” he asked.
She looked round quickly, thrilled, then answered as if in rebuke:
“This is a fine place. I should like to stay here an hour.”
“And then where?”
“Then? Oh, then, I suppose, it would be tea-time.”
“Tea on brine and pink anemones, with Daddy Neptune.”
She looked sharply at the out jutting capes. The sea did foam perilously near their bases.
“I suppose it is rather risky,” she said; and she turned, began silently to clamber forwards.
He followed; she should set the pace.
“I have no doubt there’s plenty of room, really,” he said. “The sea only looks near.”
But she toiled on intently. Now it was a question of danger, not of inconvenience, Siegmund felt elated. The waves foamed up, as it seemed, against the exposed headland, from which the massive shingle had been swept back. Supposing they could not get by. He began to smile curiously. He became aware of the tremendous noise of waters, of the slight shudder of the shingle when a wave struck it, and he always laughed to himself. Helena laboured on in silence; he kept just behind her. The point seemed near, but it took longer than they thought. They had against them the tremendous cliff, the enormous
