She was watching for him.

Her arm flashed up to him, she heaved on a wave, subsided, her shoulders in a pool of liquid silver.
He jumped through the breakers, and in a moment her hand was on his shoulder.
He was a poor swimmer, and could not stay long in the water.

She played round him in triumph, sporting with her superiority, which he begrudged her.

The sunshine stood deep and fine on the water.

They laughed in the sea for a minute or two, then raced each other back to the sandhills.
When they were drying themselves, panting heavily, he watched her laughing, breathless face, her bright shoulders, her breasts that swayed and made him frightened as she rubbed them, and he thought again: "But she is magnificent, and even bigger than the morning and the sea.
Is she--?
Is she--" She, seeing his dark eyes fixed on her, broke off from her drying with a laugh.
"What are you looking at ?" she said.
"You," he answered, laughing.
Her eyes met his, and in a moment he was kissing her white "goose-fleshed" shoulder, and thinking: "What is she?
What is she ?" She loved him in the morning.