“Isn’t the sea wonderful this morning?” asked Helena, as she wrung the water from her costume.
“It is very fine,” he answered. He refrained from saying what his heart said: “It is my last morning; it is not yours. It is my last morning, and the sea is enjoying the joke, and you are full of delight.”
“Yes,” said Siegmund, “the morning is perfect.”
“It is,” assented Helena warmly. “Have you noticed the waves? They are like a line of children chased by a white dog.”
“Ay!” said Siegmund.
“Didn’t you have a good time?” she asked, touching with her finger-tips the nape of his neck as he stooped beside her.
“I swam to my little bay again,” he replied.
“Did you?” she exclaimed, pleased.
She sat down by the pool, in which she washed her feet free from sand, holding them to Siegmund to dry.
“I am very hungry,” she said.
“And I,” he agreed.
“I feel quite established here,” she said gaily, something in his position having reminded her of their departure.
He laughed.
“It seems another eternity before the three forty-five train, doesn’t it?” she insisted.
“I wish we might never go back,” he said.
Helena sighed.
“It would be too much for life to give. We have had something, Siegmund,” she said.
He bowed his head, and did not answer.
“It has been something, dear,” she repeated.
He rose and took her in his arms.
