"Hart, what makes you?" she said wearily. "My mother doesn't care. She
says this is good for me. Do you think this is good for me, Hart?"
"Edith, you know I would give my life if I could save you this," he
said, and could not speak further.
She leaned against him, closed her eyes and lay silent so long the man
fell into panic.
"Edith, you are not unconscious?" he whispered, touching her.
"No, just resting. Please don't leave me."
He held her carefully, gently fanning her. She was suffering almost more
than either of them could endure.
"I wish you had your boat," she said at last. "I want to sail with the
wind in my face."
"There is no wind. I can bring my motor around in a few minutes."
"Then get it."
"Lie on the sand. I can 'phone from the first booth. It won't take but a
little while."
Edith lay on the white sand, and Henderson covered her face with her
hat. Then he ran to the nearest booth and talked imperatively. Presently
he was back bringing a hot drink that was stimulating. Shortly the
motor ran close to the beach and stopped. Henderson's servant brought a
row-boat ashore and took them to the launch. It was filled with cushions
and wraps. Henderson made a couch and soon, warmly covered, Edith sped
out over the water in search of peace.
Hour after hour the boat ran up and down the shore. The moon arose and
the night air grew very chilly. Henderson put on an overcoat and piled
more covers on Edith.
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