"You're so strong," she said. "It's just luck," he observed, "that we aren't playing at mixed bathing instead of standing high and dry. There's a certain excitement in walking on the rocks. I'm enjoying this." Brenda was enjoying it also; she felt rather sorry when they reached the sand and sat down, and, there being no longer a reason for the attention, he released her hand. "I want you, if you will," he said presently, "to give me some address that will find you after you leave here. I want to write to you--if I may." She was silent for a space. He was lying on the sand beside her, looking up into her face; while she hesitated she looked down at him. "I thought it was a case of ships that pass in the night," she said. "No," he answered quietly; "I never intended it should be that." "I can give you Mrs Graham's address," she said, after a further pause. "But that, of course, is only temporary." "How about your home address?" he suggested. "I haven't one," she answered, and started to play with the sand. "We broke that up when my father... He was unfortunate," she finished in a flattened voice. "I'm sorry," he said simply. He felt that he had blundered upon a painful subject; the father was evidently one of those people whom their relations prefer to ignore. "I'll have Mrs Graham's address anyhow, and follow up the changes. This friendship has got to develop, you know. It wouldn't be fair to me if you drew bade now after extending the hand of good-fellowship." "Oh! I'm not drawing back," she said, and ceased fidgeting with the sand and sat nursing her knees, and watching the moving blackness below. "I've derived much pleasure from the friendship. It's been... Well, there have been perfect moments..." "To-night?" he questioned. "To-night--yes." Her voice dropped to a whisper in making the admission; she spoke with an effort; there was a suggestion of a great deal which she might have said but determinedly repressed in her manner. The darkness crept closer and hid the blush that warmed her face. "It's rotten having to go to-morrow," he said. "I'm sorry I have to go. I've enjoyed this week--oh! more than I have enjoyed anything since landing. I would have liked to have seen the holiday out with you. Perhaps some day..." He broke off and dropped back on the sand and lay staring up at the stars. "It's a rotten nuisance, anyway," he finished. It was later than they had supposed when eventually they rose to retrace their steps; in the enjoyment of the present they lost count of time; and it was with something akin to dismay that Brenda learnt on consulting his watch by the light of the moon that it was approaching eleven o'clock. It would complicate matters if the others got home from their walk before her. "We'll have to hurry," she said. "It's so simple to hurry over the rocks, isn't it?" he returned with grim humour. "What, after all, can any one say if you are late?"