At all events Robert proposed it, and there was not a dissenting voice.

There was not one but was ready to follow when he led the way. He did

not lead the way, however, he directed the way; and he himself loitered

behind with the lovers, who had betrayed a disposition to linger and

hold themselves apart. He walked between them, whether with malicious or

mischievous intent was not wholly clear, even to himself.

The Pontelliers and Ratignolles walked ahead; the women leaning upon the

arms of their husbands. Edna could hear Robert's voice behind them,

and could sometimes hear what he said. She wondered why he did not join

them. It was unlike him not to. Of late he had sometimes held away from

her for an entire day, redoubling his devotion upon the next and the

next, as though to make up for hours that had been lost. She missed him

the days when some pretext served to take him away from her, just as one

misses the sun on a cloudy day without having thought much about the sun

when it was shining.

The people walked in little groups toward the beach. They talked and

laughed; some of them sang. There was a band playing down at Klein's

hotel, and the strains reached them faintly, tempered by the distance.

There were strange, rare odors abroad--a tangle of the sea smell and of

weeds and damp, new-plowed earth, mingled with the heavy perfume of a

field of white blossoms somewhere near. But the night sat lightly upon

the sea and the land. There was no weight of darkness; there were no

shadows. The white light of the moon had fallen upon the world like the

mystery and the softness of sleep.

Most of them walked into the water as though into a native element. The

sea was quiet now, and swelled lazily in broad billows that melted into

one another and did not break except upon the beach in little foamy

crests that coiled back like slow, white serpents.

Edna had attempted all summer to learn to swim. She had received

instructions from both the men and women; in some instances from the

children. Robert had pursued a system of lessons almost daily; and he

was nearly at the point of discouragement in realizing the futility of

his efforts. A certain ungovernable dread hung about her when in the

water, unless there was a hand nearby that might reach out and reassure

her.

But that night she was like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching

child, who of a sudden realizes its powers, and walks for the first time

alone, boldly and with over-confidence. She could have shouted for joy.

She did shout for joy, as with a sweeping stroke or two she lifted her

body to the surface of the water.




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