"Really, that won't do," she said; "much moonlight and Gladys and the
Minster twins convict you. Do you remember that I told you one day in
early summer--that Sheila and Dorothy and Gladys would mark you for
their own? Oh, my inconstant courtier, they are yonder!--And I absolve
you. Adieu!"
"Do you remember what _I_ told _you_--one day in early summer?" he
returned coolly.
Her heart began its absurd beating again--but now there was no trace of
pain in it--nothing of apprehension in the echo of the pulse either.
"You protested so many things, Captain Selwyn--"
"Yes; and one thing in particular. You've forgotten it, I see." And he
looked her in the eye.
"No," she said, "you are wrong. I have not forgotten."
"Nor I."
He halted, looking out over the shining breakers. "I'm glad you have not
forgotten what I said; because, you see, I'm forbidden to repeat it. So
I shall be quite helpless to aid you in case your memory fails."
"I don't think it will fail," she said, looking at the flashing sea.
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