"Marrying you, far from seeming a radical or momentous thing to
do," she assured him, "seems to me like getting back into key--
getting out of this bad dream of loneliness and change--securing
something that I thought was lost!"

Her voice fell to a dreamy note, and she watched the gulls,
wheeling in the sunshine, with thoughtful, smiling eyes. The man
glanced at her once or twice, in the silence that followed, with
something like hesitation, or compunction, in his look.

"Look here, Alix--let's talk. I want to ask you something. Or,
rather, I want to tell you something--or, rather--"

"CONTINUEZ--CONTINUEZ!" she said, laughing, as he hesitated.

"There's never been anything--anything to tell you--or your
father, if he was here," Peter said, flushed and a trifle awkward,
"I'm not that kind of a man. I was a crippled kid, as you know,
all for books and music and walks and older people. But there HAS
been that one thing--that one woman--"

Flushed, too, she was looking at him with bright, intelligent
eyes.

"But I thought she never even knew--"

"No, she never did!"

Alix looked back at the gulls.