He slipped Damaris’ hand within his arm, still bearing her onward.  The last of the long line of gas-lamps upon the esplanade, marking the curve of the bay, was now left behind.  A little further and the road forked—­the main one followed the shore.  The other—­a footpath—­mounted to the left through the delicate gloom and semi-darkness of the wood clothing the promontory.  Carteret did not regret that impending obscurity, apprehending it would be less embarrassing, under cover of it, to embark on certain themes which must be embarked upon were he to bring his purpose to full circle.

“Listen, my dear,” he told her, “while I expound.  Certain laws of friendship exist, between men, which are imperative.  They must be respected.  To evade them, still worse, wilfully break them is to be guilty of unpardonably bad taste and bad feeling—­to put it no higher.  Had your father chosen to speak to me of this matter, well and good.  I should have felt honoured by his confidence, have welcomed it—­for he is dearer to me than any man living and always must be.—­But the initiative has to come from him.  Till he speaks I am dumb.  For me to approach the subject first is not possible.”

“Then the whole beautiful plan falls through,” she said brokenly.

“No, not at all, very far from that,” he comforted her.  “I gather you have already discussed it with your father.  You must lay hold of your courage and discuss it again.  I know that won’t be easy; but you owe it to him to be straightforward, owe it to his peculiar devotion to you.  Some day, perhaps, when you are older and more ripe in experience, I may tell you, in plain language of a vow he once made for your sake—­when he was in his prime, too, his life strong in him, his powers at their height.  Some persons might consider his action exaggerated and fanatical.  But such accusations can be brought against most actions really heroic.  And that this action, specially in a man of his temperament, may claim to be heroic there can be, in my opinion, no manner of doubt.”

The path climbed steeply through the pine wood.  Damaris’ hand grew heavy on Carteret’s arm.  Once she stumbled, and clung to him in recovering her footing, thereby sending an electric current tingling through his nerves again.

“He did what was painful, you mean, and for my sake?”

“Say rather gave up something very much the reverse of painful,” Carteret answered, his voice not altogether under control, so that it struck away, loud and jarring, between the still ranks of the tree-trunks to right and left.

“Which is harder?”

“Which is much harder—­immeasurably, incalculably harder, dearest witch.”