She opened her eyes slowly and stared up at the overhanging rock and could not imagine where she was.
“Edith — Edith!”
She sat up and shook the sand out of her hair. Her feet were wet, they were in water. And it was Jared’s voice shouting at her. He was racing down the steps.
“The tide has turned, you darling idiot! I couldn’t see you until you moved. Oh, how could you! How did you get here all alone? Where’s your car?”
He was rolling up his trousers and preparing to wade to her.
“Take off your shoes and stockings,” he commanded. “The water is only about to your knees, but a few more minutes — lucky it’s a calm day! But the tide is rolling in, the cave would have filled—”
She was peeling off her stockings and now, shoes in her hand, she began to walk through the water toward him. He met her before she had reached halfway, and, his arm about her, he led her to the steps.
“Up with you as fast as possible,” he scolded. “No, I’ll wait until you reach the top. These steps won’t bear the weight of both of us, and I don’t care to scale the cliff.”
He waited, the incoming tide swelling about him, until she had reached the top and stood upon firm ground. Then he swung himself up the steps, socks and shoes in hand, and faced her. He was pale and angry.
“You might have been caught there,” he shouted.
“I can swim,” she said mildly and sitting on a rock she began to put on her stockings while he watched her, still angry.
“I went to your house,” he said. “Weston told me where you were. Where is that damned chauffeur of yours?”
“He’s probably wondering where I am and has gone to report me lost or something.”
“You have very pretty legs and feet,” he said suddenly as though he had not heard her.
“I’ve been told that before,” she said. Then, clothed, she rearranged her hair. “I lost my hat,” she continued.
“What’s a hat—” he grumbled.
“Nothing, under the circumstances,” she agreed, “especially as it’s gone. The tide carried it away.”
They were interrupted by the return of her car and with it a police car.
“She’s come back,” the chauffeur shouted to the policeman. The two cars pulled up, and the officer stepped out and came toward them.
“I’m sorry,” she told him with her best smile. “I was stupid and fell asleep on the beach. My friend, Mr. Barnow, came along and rescued me.”
“Before she drowned,” Jared put in.
“Before I drowned,” she repeated.
The officer turned to the chauffeur. “You might have looked over the cliff!”
“I never took thought,” the chauffeur said.
Jared lost patience suddenly. “While you two decide what should have been done, I will drive Mrs. Chardman home in my car. Come along, Mrs. Chardman.”
She rose in a mood of strange peace and followed him and they drove away, together.
…“Why don't you ask me why I came?” Jared asked.
They had maintained a long silence during an early dinner at a wayside inn, a silence she had not wished to break. Indeed, she had nothing to say. The warmth of the sun, now near setting, the mild air, flowing in through the open window, the sea air, fragrant and moist, the happiness of being with him, whatever the reason, induced a profound contentment.
“Why did you come?” she asked, almost idly.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I had to — I couldn’t do anything else — properly, that is. You’ve upset me. I can’t do my work — since last night. I do nothing but think about you, how you look, the sound of your voice, the way you walk. You dance better than anyone I’ve ever known — more gracefully. I can’t tell you — it’s a yielding sort of grace. I can’t forget it. I’ve never felt like this before. Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“What can I say? Except that I’m happy, wonderfully happy. I–I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy before in my life — not in this way.” Her voice drifted off in a whisper.
“In what way?” he demanded.
“If I knew, I would tell you,” she said simply.
They were silent again after that. In the car the miles sped by. What he was thinking she did not know, his handsome profile stern and set, his eyes ahead on the road. But she did not know, either, what she herself was thinking. Perhaps it was not even thought, only feeling.
It was long after sunset, the darkness falling, when at last he pulled up in front of her house. Weston, hovering near the door, opened it when he heard the car.
“I didn’t know what to do about dinner, madame, not hearing from you.”
“We’ve dined,” she said, “and Mr. Barnow will be staying the night — at least, I suppose so?”
She turned to Jared and he nodded.
“If you will have me—”
“Of course.”
She turned to Weston. “You might bring us coffee and liqueurs in the library. I’ll just go up and change.”
She went upstairs exultant and afraid. Whatever was to happen would happen. She could not stay the inevitable, though she did not know what it was. She would yield, she would yield. Whatever he offered, she would take; whatever the cost, she would pay. Then upon an impulse she did not understand, she made no effort to look younger than she was. She twisted her hair carelessly upon her head, she put no makeup on her face, the sun and sea air had burned her fair skin and she let it be. She chose an old green frock and slipped it over her head and did not pause to look in the mirror. This was she, this flushed, sunburned woman with careless hair and bare feet thrust into silver sandals. She was forty-three years old and let him see her as such a woman. If he drew back, then it was her fate. But if he did not draw back? She refused the possibility. Why plan that which she could not know? She had a perverse instinct, lasting no more than a moment, when she wished that he would reject her and thus take from her the necessity for decision. She hesitated at the door, then opened it and went downstairs.
…He was waiting for her in the library. At the door she had hesitated again, longing and yet in dread. Then she opened it gently and only a little, but he was watching. He came swiftly across the room, he shut the door and standing with his back to it he took her in his arms and kissed her impetuously again and again.
“When I think what might have happened,” he muttered.
She stood within his embrace, yielding to it, accepting, her whole body responding. Then, after a moment, she drew back. “I wasn’t meant to die, it seems.”
“Not if I could prevent it.”
They moved hand in hand toward a sofa before which Weston had placed a small table with the liqueurs and coffee. She poured coffee, her hands shaking slightly, which he observed. “You are trembling,” he said.
“I suppose it’s something of a shock,” she said.
“I’m certainly shaken.” He tasted neither coffee nor liqueur. Instead he began abrupt talk.
“I must tell you — I’m completely confused. I’m facing an entirely new situation. I’m committed to you. I’m not a free man any more. I’ve never committed myself in my life before. I’ve never been possessed. But now I am. I’m not even sure I like it. What does a man do when he’s possessed by a woman? I only know I’d marry you tonight — if I could!”
She listened, her eyes fixed upon him. He was not thinking of her, and she realized it. He was thinking of himself, caught in a web of desire for her, resenting her because he was beginning to know how deeply he loved her. He wanted her physically and was horrified at himself. Yet if she put out her hand, if she touched him, she could have him. If she smoothed the back of his head, if she laid her hand in the curve of his arm, if she so much as looked at the slimness of waist and thigh, she could have him. She held her eyes steadfastly downcast, she refused her own desire and for reasons she did not understand except that they had nothing to do with her, but only with him, she began almost incoherently to speak out of some part of herself which, although she did not understand, she wanted him to know.