The girl stood and stared thoughtfully out at the soft blue sea. Minot moved closer, over those perilous slippery rocks.
"I know it's an old story to you," he went on, "and that I'd be a fool to hope that I could possibly be anything but just another man who adores you. But--because I love you so much--"
"And in spite of all this," she said slowly, "from the first you have done everything in your power to prevent the breaking off of my engagement to Harrowby."
"Weren't you overly chivalrous to a rival? Wouldn't what--what you are saying be more convincing if you had remained neutral?"
"I know. I can't explain it to you now. It's all over, anyway. It was horrible while it lasted--but it's over now. I'm never going to work again for your marriage to anybody--except one man. The man who is standing before you--who loves you--loves you--"
He stopped, for the girl was smiling. And it was not the sort of smile that his words were entitled to.
"I'm sorry, really," she said. "But I can't help it. All I can see now is your triumphant entrance last night--your masterly exposure of that silly necklace--your clever destruction of every obstacle in order that Harrowby and I might be married on Tuesday. In the light of all that has happened--how can you expect to appear other than--"
"Foolish? You're right. And you couldn't possibly care--just a little--"
He stopped, embarrassed. Poorly chosen words, those last. He saw the light of recollection in her eye.
"I should say," he went on hastily, "isn't there just a faint gleam of hope--for me--"
"If we were back on the train," she said, "and all that followed could be different--and Harrowby had never been--I might--"
"I might not say what I'm going to say now. Which is--hadn't we better return to the hotel?"
"I'm sorry," remarked Minot. "Sorry I had the bad taste to say what I have at this time--but if you knew and could understand--which you can't of course-- Yes, let's go back to the hotel--the shortest way."
He turned, and looked toward the towers of the De la Pax rising to meet the sky--seemingly a million miles away. So Peary might have gazed to the north, setting out for the Pole.
They went back along the ramparts, over the dry moat, through the crumbling gates. Conversation languished. Then the ancient graveyard, ghastly in the gloom. After that the long lighted street of humble shops. And the shortest way home seemed a million times longer than the longest way there.