I want to smell the sea from one of those wonderful lookouts of yours." He walked with her along one of the lower paths, deliberately avoiding the upper lookouts.

They came presently to a grass-grown pier.

She stood at the end, her firm, capable fingers clenching the stone wall, her eyes looking seaward.
"I will tell you where you belong," she said.

"In your heart you must know it, but you are suffering from that reaction which comes from failure to those people who are not used to failure.

You belong to the head of things.