Clare started again in sheer surprise. She had expected tears, fainting, angry words, a passionate appeal--anything rather than what she heard. Brook produced a silver case which gleamed in the moonlight. Lady Fan took a cigarette, and her companion took another. He struck a match and held it up for her in the still air. The little flame cast its red glare into their faces. The young girl had good eyes, and as she watched them she saw the man's expression was grave and stern, a little sad, perhaps, but she fancied that there was the beginning of a scornful smile on the woman's lips. She understood less clearly then than ever what manner of human beings these two strangers might be. For some moments they smoked in silence, the lady in white leaning back against the parapet, the man standing upright with one hand in his pocket, holding his cigarette in the other, and looking out to sea. Then Lady Fan stood up, too, and threw her cigarette over the wall. "It's time to be going," she said, suddenly. "They'll be coming after us if we stay here." But she did not move. Sideways she looked up into his face. Then she held out her hand. "Good-bye, Brook," she said, quietly enough, as he took it. "Good-bye," he murmured in a low voice, but distinctly. Their hands stayed together after they had spoken, and still she looked up to him in the moonlight. Suddenly he bent down and kissed her on the forehead--in an odd, hasty way. "I'm sorry, Fan, but it won't do," he said. "Again!" she answered. "Once more, please!" And she held up her face. He kissed her again, but less hastily, Clare thought, as she watched them. Then, without another word, they walked towards the hotel, side by side, close together, so that their hands almost touched. When they were not ten paces from the door, they stopped again and looked at each other. At that moment Clare saw her mother's dark figure on the threshold. The pair must have heard her steps, for they separated a little and instantly went on, passing Mrs. Bowring quickly. Clare sat still in her place, waiting for her mother to come to her. She feared lest, if she moved, the two might come back for an instant, see her, and understand that they had been watched. Mrs. Bowring went forward a few steps. "Clare!" she called. "Yes," answered the young girl softly. "Here I am." "Oh--I could not see you at all," said her mother. "Come down into the moonlight." The young girl descended the steps, and the two began to walk up and down together on the platform. "Those were two of the people from the yacht that I met at the door," said Mrs. Bowring. "The lady in white serge, and that good-looking young man." "Yes," Clare answered. "They were here some time. I don't think they saw me."