He had turned full on her; the answering colour crept to his forehead.
"Is that why?" he asked slowly.
"Is it not a reason?"
"It was my reason--for being here."
She bit her bright lip. This trend to the conversation was ominous, and she had meant to do her drifting alone in still sun-dreams, fearing no witness, no testimony, no judgment save her own self in court with herself.
"I--I suppose you cannot go--now," she reflected innocently.
"Indeed I can, and must."
"And leave me here to dig in the sand with my heels? Merci!"
"Do you mean--"
"I certainly do, Mr. Siward. I don't want to dream, now; I don't care to reflect. I did, but here you come blundering into my private world and upset my calculations and change my intentions! It's a shame, especially as you've been lying here doing what I wished to do for goodness knows how long!"
"I'm going," he said, looking at her curiously.
"Then you are very selfish, Mr. Siward."
"We will call it that," he said with an odd laugh.
"Very well." She seated herself on the sand and calmly shook out her skirts.
"About what time would you like to be called?" he asked smilingly.
"Thank you, I shall do no sun-dreaming."
"Please. It is good for you."
"No, it isn't good at all. And I am grateful to you for waking me," she retorted with a sudden gay malice that subdued him. And she, delicate nose in the air, laughingly watching him, went on with her punishment: "You see what you've done, don't you?--saved me from an entire morning wasted in sentimental reverie over what might have been. Now you can appreciate it, can't you?--your wisdom in appearing in the flesh to save a silly girl the effort of evoking you in the spirit! Ah, Mr. Siward, I am vastly obliged to you! Pray sit here beside me in the flesh, for fear that in your absence I might commit the folly that tempted me here."
His low running laughter accompanying her voice had stimulated her to a gay audacity, which for the instant extinguished in her the little fear of him she had been barely conscious of.
"Do you know," he said, "that you also aroused me from my sun-dreams?"
"Did I? And can't you resume them?"
"You save me the necessity."
"Oh, that is a second-hand compliment," she said disdainfully--"a weak plagiarism on what I conveyed very wittily. You were probably really asleep, and dreaming of bird-murder."
He waited for her to finish, then, amused eyes searching, he roamed about until high on a little drifted sand dune he found a place for himself; and while she watched him indignantly, he curled up in the sunshine, and, dropping his head on the hot sand, calmly closed his eyes.