“Our love,” corrected Mavis, as she gave him a glance rich with meaning.

“Our love, then:  the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Which, unlike everything else, never dies,” she declared.

They drank.  Mavis presently put down her knife and fork, to take Perigal’s and feed him with tid-bits from her or his plate.  She would not allow him to eat of anything without her sanction; she stuffed him as the dictates of her fancy suggested.  Then she mixed great black berries with the Cornish cream.  When they had eaten their fill, she lit a cigarette, while her lover ate cheese.  When he had finished, he sat quite close to her as he smoked.  Mavis abandoned herself to the enjoyment of her cigarette; supported by her lover’s arm, she looked lazily at the wild beauty spread so bountifully about her.  The sun, the sea, the sky, the cliff, the day all seemed an appropriate setting to the love which warmed her body.  The man at her side possessed her thoughts to the exclusion of all else; she threw away her half-smoked cigarette to look at him with soft, tremulous eyes.  Suddenly, she put an arm about his neck and bent his face back, which accomplished, she leant over him to kiss his hair, eyes, neck, and mouth.

“I love you!  I love you!  I love you!” she murmured.

“You’re wonderful, little Mavis—­wonderful.”

Her kisses intoxicated him.  He closed his eyes and slept softly.  She pulled him towards her, so that his head was pillowed on her heart; then, feeling blissfully, ecstatically happy, she closed her eyes and turned her head so that the sunlight beat full on her face.  She lost all sense of surroundings and must have slept for quite two hours.  When she awoke, the sun was low in the heavens.  She shivered slightly with cold, and was delighted to see the kettle boiling for tea on a spirit-lamp, which Perigal had lit in the shelter of the luncheon basket.

“How thoughtful of my darling!” she remarked.

“It’s just boiling.  I won’t keep you a moment longer than I can help.”

She sipped her tea, to feel greatly refreshed with her sleep.  They ate heartily at this meal.  They were both so radiantly happy that they laughed whenever there was either the scantiest opportunity or none at all.  The most trivial circumstance delighted them; sea and sky seemed to reflect their boundless happiness.  The sea had, by now, crept quite close to them:  they amused themselves by watching the myriads of sand-flies which were disturbed by every advancing wave.

“We must soon be thinking of jacking up,” said Perigal.

“Surely not yet, dearest.”

“But it’s past six.”

“Don’t let us go a moment sooner than is necessary,” she pleaded.  “It’s all been too wonderful.”

As the September sun had sunk behind the cliffs, they no longer felt his warmth.  When Perigal had packed the luncheon basket, they walked about hand in hand, exploring the inmost recesses of their romantic retreat.  It was only when it was quite dusk that they regretfully made a start for home.