Her hand trembled as she drank.

Widdowson fell into gloomy abstraction.

Later, as they lay side by side, he wished to renew the theme, but Monica would not talk; she declared herself too sleepy, turned her back to him, and soon slept indeed.
That night the weather became stormy; a roaring wind swept the Channel, and when day broke nothing could be seen but cloud and rain.

Widdowson, who had rested little, was in a heavy, taciturn mood; Monica, on the other hand, talked gaily, seeming not to observe her companion's irresponsiveness.

She was glad of the wild sky; now they would see another aspect of island life--the fierce and perilous surges beating about these granite shores.
They had brought with them a few books, and Widdowson, after breakfast, sat down by the fire to read.