Supper over, Mrs.
Bearnish announced in a loud voice that the verandah was at the disposal of the "turtle-doves." She no doubt expected them to bill and coo in public, as Purdy and Matilda had done.

On edge at the thought, he drew Polly into the comparative seclusion of the garden.

Here they strolled up and down, their promenade bounded at the lower end by the dense-leaved arbour under which they had first met.

In its screening shadow he took the kiss he had then been generous enough to forgo.
"I think I loved you, Polly, directly I saw you." In the distance a clump of hills rose steep and bare from the waste land by the sea's edge--he could see them at this moment as he leant over the taffrail: with the sun going down behind them they were the colour of smoked glass.

Last night they had been white with moonlight, which lay spilled out upon them like milk.