She ended with a laugh that was almost deprecating.

"Don't tell your mother yet, Vere," said Artois, decisively. "It is as
you say: if you told her before you have thoroughly tried your wings
you might be paralyzed. When, if ever, you can show her something
really good she will be the first to encourage you. But--till then--I
think with you that her influence in that direction would probably be
discouraging. Indeed, I feel sure of it."

"But if she should really begin to wonder! Perhaps she will ask. It's
absurd, but I can't help feeling as if we, you and I, were
conspirators, Monsieur Emile."

He laughed happily.

"What a blessed place this is!" he said. "One is made free of the
ocean here. What is that far-away light?"

He pointed.

"Low down? Oh, that must be the light of a fisherman, one of those who
seek in the rocks for shell-fish."

"How mysterious it looks, moving to and fro! One feels life there, the
doings of unknown men in the darkness."

"I wonder if--would you hate to go out a little way in the boat? The
men look so strange when one is near them, almost like fire-people."

"Hate! Let us go."