The moon was over sea.

Coasting vessels that had run into the bay for shelter from the North wind lay with their shadows thrown shoreward on the cold smooth water, almost to the verge of the beach, where there was neither breath nor sound of wind, only the lisp at the pebbles.
Mrs.Crickledon's dinner and the state of his heart made young Fellingham indifferent to a wintry atmosphere.

It sufficed him that the night was fair.

He stretched himself on the shingle, thinking of the Manzanilla, and Annette, and the fine flavour given to tobacco by a dry still air in moonlight--thinking of his work, too, in the background, as far as mental lassitude would allow of it.

The idea of taking Annette to see his first play at the theatre when it should be performed--was very soothing.