Colin sat up with a start; he had not been conscious of having gone to sleep, but now, wide-awake again, it certainly seemed as if his brain recorded other impressions than those of this empty eminence. Had there been some one standing by him, or was it only the black shadow of that solitary pine which his drowsiness had construed into the figure of a man? And had there been talking going on, or was it only the whisper of the wind in the dried grasses which sounded in his ears? In any case, it was time to go, for the sun had declined westwards, and, losing the flames and rays of its heat, was already become but a glowing molten ball close above the sea. How strangely the various states of consciousness melted into each other, though the sense of identity persisted. Whatever happened that remained....
At the corner of the garden, perched on the wall which ran alongside the steep footpath up from the town, was a little paved platform, where they often sat after dinner. There had been a letter for Colin from his father which had arrived during his walk, and now, holding it close to his eyes to catch the last of the swiftly-fading light, he communicated pieces of its contents to Violet.
“Raymond’s gone back to Cambridge,” he said. “Father seems reconciled to his absence. That’s funny now; there’s my elder brother an undergraduate and me a married man and not of age yet. It was touch and go whether it wasn’t the other way about, Vi.”
“Oh, don’t, Colin!” said she. “I can’t bear to think of it.”
“But you did think of it. Wasn’t that a nice surprise for you when I told you that to marry me didn’t mean giving up Stanier? That made all the difference.”
She came close to him. “Colin, don’t be such a brute,” she said. “There’s just one thing you mustn’t jest about and that’s my love for you. I wish almost I wasn’t going to get Stanier in order to show you. Don’t jest about it.”
“I won’t then. Serious matter! But don’t you jest about getting Stanier. Vi, if you would move your head an inch I should get more light.”
Colin ran his eyes down the page. “Lots of affection,” he said. “He wants us back. Uncle Ronald’s down at Stanier, and Aunt Hester. Then some more affection. Oh, he has had another little attack of giddiness, nothing to worry about. So we won’t worry. And Aunt Hester’s going off a bit, apparently, getting to repeat herself, father says. And then some more affection.”