The terrace was nearly empty; every one had gone to listen to the operetta, the sound of whose contemporary gayety came through the open, hot-looking windows in little thin quavers and catches.

The ocean was rumbling just beneath; it made a ruder but richer music.

Bernard stood looking at it a moment; then he went down the steps to the beach.

The tide was rather low; he walked slowly down to the line of the breaking waves.

The sea looked huge and black and simple; everything was vague in the unassisted darkness.