"Please!" She was in his arms for a moment, her lips had clung to his.

Then she was away, flying along the sands at a pace which seemed to him miraculous, swinging her hat in her hands, and humming the maddening refrain of some French song, which it seemed to him was always upon her lips, and which had haunted him for days.

He hesitated, uncertain whether to follow, ashamed of himself, ashamed of the passion which was burning in his blood.

And while he hesitated she passed out of sight, turning only once to wave her hand as she crossed the line of grass-grown hillocks which shut him out from her view..