"At Nombre de Dios the skies are blue-- Farewell to Moll, farewell to Sue!" She stood at the gate and could see him as a blot on the Moor. He was coming towards Odiam, and she watched him as he plunged through the heather, singing at the pitch of his lungs: "At Santiago love is kind, And we'll forget those left behind-- So kiss us long, and kiss us well, Polly and Meg and Kate and Nell-- Farewell, farewell, you jolly young girls! We're off to Rio Bay." He had struck the path that ran by the bottom of the garden, and swaggered along it with the seaman's peculiar rolling gait, accentuated by strong liquor. Caro felt him coming nearer, and told herself uneasily that she had better go back into the house. He was drunk, and he might speak to her. Still she did not move, she found herself clinging to the gate, leaning her breast against it, while her tongue felt thick and dry in her mouth. He was quite close--she could hear the thud of his step on the soft earth. Her hands grasped the two gate-posts, and she leaned forward over the gate, so that her face caught the faint radiance that still lingered in the zenith. He had stopped singing, but she could see him now distinctly--a tall, loosely-built figure, with dark face, and woolly hair like a nigger's, while his seaman's earrings caught the starlight. He drew level with her, not seeing her. She did not move, she scarcely breathed, and he had almost passed her ... then suddenly his eyes turned and met hers. "Hello, Susan!" He stood swaying before her on his heels, his hands in his trouser-pockets, his head a little on one side. Caro did not speak--she could not. "What time is it, dear?" "I--I dunno," she faltered, her voice sounding squeaky and unlike her own: "it might be nine." "It might be Wales or Madagasky, It might be Rio de Janeiro." he trolled, and Caro was suddenly afraid lest someone should hear in the house. She glanced back uneasily over her shoulder. "Papa on the look-out?" She coloured, and began to stutter something. "I've been to a wedding," he said conversationally; "a proper wedding with girls and kisses." He suddenly leaned over the gate and kissed Caro on the lips. She gave a little scream and started back from him. For a moment earth, sky, and trees seemed to reel together in one crazy dance. She was conscious of nothing but the kiss, her first kiss; it had smelt and tasted strongly of brandy, if the truth were told, but it had none the less been a kiss, and her sacrament of initiation. She stood there in the darkness with parted lips and shining eyes. The dusk was kind to her, and she pleased the sailor. "Come out for a walk," he said, and lifted the latch.