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BOOK VII.—THE MOTHER AND THE SON.
125
"Oh, nothing," said Gwendolen, rousing herself from her momentary forgetfulness and resuming the ropes.
"Don't you find this pleasant?" said Grandcourt.
"Very."
"You admit now we couldn't have done anything better?"
"No—I see nothing better. I think we shall go on always, like the Flying Dutchman," said Gwendolen, wildly.
Grandcourt gave her one of his narrow, examining glances, and then said, "If you like, we can go to Spezia in the morning, and let them take us up there."
"No; I shall like nothing better than this."
"Very well; we'll do the same to-morrow. But we must be turning in soon. I shall put about."
