His hand flew across the paper. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. She drank her glass of wine, however, and clanked glasses good-naturedly with Mr. She had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. “It is concerning—our future relations,” Sir John pronounced ponderously. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. “This is not every day.
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