She took him seriously.  “I don’t.  I want to keep the present just as it is—­just as it is.  I would like to stay with you here for ever and ever, but in another half-hour—­in less—­the tide will be racing over this very spot, and we shall be gone.”  Her voice vibrated; she cast a glance behind.  “One false step,” she said, “too sharp a turn, too wide a curve, and we’d have been in the quicksand!  It’s like that all over.  It’s life, and it’s full of danger, whichever way we turn.”

He looked at her curiously.  “Why, what has come to you?” he said.

She caught her breath in a sound that was like a sob.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “It’s being so madly happy that has frightened me.  It can’t last.  It never does last.”

He smiled upon her philosophically.  “Then let us make the most of it while it does!” he said.  “Tonight will pass, but—­don’t forget—­there is tomorrow.”

She answered him feverishly.  “The moon may not shine tomorrow.”

He laughed, drawing her to him.  “I can do without the moon, queen of my heart.”

She went into his arms, but she was trembling.  “I feel—­somehow—­as if someone were watching us,” she whispered.

“Exactly my own idea,” he said.  “The moon is a bit too intrusive tonight.  I shan’t weep if there are a few clouds tomorrow.”

She laughed a little dubiously.  “We couldn’t cross the quicksand if the light were bad.”

“We could get down to the Point by the cliff-path,” he pointed out.  “I went that way only this afternoon.”

“Ah!  But it is very steep, and it passes Rufus’s cottage,” she murmured.

“What of it?” he said indifferently.  “I’m sure he sleeps like a log.”

She turned from the subject.  “Besides, you must have moonlight for your picture.  And the moon won’t last.”

“My picture!” He pressed her suddenly closer.  “Do you know what my picture is going to be?”

“Tell me!” she whispered.

“Shall I?” He turned gently her face up to his own.  “Shall I?  Dare I?”

She opened her eyes wide—­those glorious, trusting eyes.  “But why should you be afraid to tell me?”

He laughed again softly, and kissed her lips.  “I will make a rough sketch in the morning and show it you.  It won’t be a study—­only an idea.  You are going to pose for the study.”

“I?” she said, half-startled.

“You—­yes, you!” His eyes looked deeply into hers.  “Haven’t you realised yet that you are my inspiration?” he said.  “It is going to be the picture of my life—­’Aphrodite the Beautiful!’”

She quivered afresh at his words.  “Am I really—­so beautiful?” she faltered.  “Would you think so if—­if you didn’t love me?”

“Would I have loved you if you weren’t?” laughed Knight.  “My darling, you are exquisite as a passion-flower grown in Paradise.  To worship you is as natural to me as breathing.  You are heaven on earth to me.”