"Would you care to go down to the rocks?" he asked. "The surf is
terrific."

"No--I don't think I care--"

They stood listening a moment to the stupendous roar.

"A storm somewhere at sea," he concluded.

"Is it very fine--the surf?"

"Very fine--and very relentless--" he laughed; "it is an unfriendly
creature, the sea, you know."

She had begun to move toward the cliffs, he fell into step beside her;
they spoke little, a word now and then.

The perfume of the mounting sea saturated the night with wild fragrance;
dew lay heavy on the lawns; she lifted her skirts enough to clear the
grass, heedless that her silk-shod feet were now soaking. Then at the
cliffs' edge, as she looked down into the white fury of the surf, the
stunning crash of the ocean saluted her.

For a long while they watched in silence; once she leaned a trifle too
far over the star-lit gulf and, recoiling, involuntarily steadied
herself on his arm.

"I suppose," she said, "no swimmer could endure that battering."

"Not long."