e dazzled them for a moment.

"You are late," said Mrs. Black. "I was just going to shut up." She looked
at the clock. "Getting on for nine."

Sally asked for her half pound of tea (Mrs. Athelny could never bring
herself to buy more than half a pound at a time), and they set off up the
road again. Now and then some beast of the night made a short, sharp
sound, but it seemed only to make the silence more marked.

"I believe if you stood still you could hear the sea," said Sally.

They strained their ears, and their fancy presented them with a faint
sound of little waves lapping up against the shingle. When they passed the
stile again the lovers were still there, but now they were not speaking;
they were in one another's arms, and the man's lips were pressed against
the girl's.

"They seem busy," said Sally.

They turned a corner, and a breath of warm wind beat for a moment against
their faces. The earth gave forth its freshness. There was something
strange in the tremulous night, and something, you knew not what, seemed
to be waiting; the silence was on a sudden pregnant with meaning. Philip
had a queer feeling in his heart, it seemed very full, it seemed to melt
(the hackneyed phrases expressed precisely the curious sensation), he felt
happy and anxious and expectant. To his memory came back those lines in
which Jessica and Lorenzo murmur melodious words to one another, capping
each other's utterance; but passion shines bright and clear through the
conceits that amuse them. He did not know what there was in the air that
made his senses so strangely alert; it seemed to him that he was pure soul
to enjoy the scents and the sounds and the savours of the earth. He had
never felt such an exquisite capacity for beauty. He was afraid that Sally
by speaking would break the spell, but she said never a word, and he
wanted to hear the sound of her voice. Its low richness was the voice of
the country night itself.

They arrived at the field through which she had to walk to get back to the
huts. Philip went in to hold the gate open for her.

"Well, here I think I'll say good-night."

"Thank you for coming all that way with me."

She gave him her hand, and as he took it, he said:

"If you were very nice you'd kiss me good-night like the rest of the
family."

"I don't mind," she said.

Philip had spoken in jest. He merely wanted to kiss her, because he was
happy and he liked her and the night was so lovely.

"Good-nig