Ellen turned to the glimmer of his face: What, now?—Why not? The rain’s warm enough and I’m sticky still with the Crossgate heat. The glimmer grew blurred: I’m going to. Shan’t be out long.

Ellen said You can’t. You haven’t a bathing-dres—or towels—or anything.

—That’s the beauty of it. Nothing at all.

And supposing he caught cramp down there alone? Ellen swallowed: It might be fun. I’m coming in as well.

As she threw off her coat and unbuckled her shoes she saw him about to go out of the shelter. Funny the tingle that touched her then, cool enough though she was: There’s plenty of room for both of us, isn’t there?

He called I suppose so, and stripped in like haste with herself, it was cold in the shelter, a long pointer of wind stroked Ellen’s back as she wrenched off her stockings, Ewan asked suddenly out of the dark if a girl always took off her stockings last?

Ellen raised her head and saw him a white glimmer, goodness, shouldn’t look; but why shouldn’t she? He was looking at her, she supposed, thank goodness couldn’t see much. She said Yes, I think so. I’ve never noticed. Oh, hell, it’s cold!

Ewan said It’s not. Come on. Can you swim? And Ellen said she could or was trying to say it when the rain-laden wind whipped the words from her mouth, on the promenade they were caught and twirled, she thought in a sudden panic, This is mad we’ll never get back, and next minute found Ewan had caught her wrist: Down together. I know the way.

They ran. The way lay over the sand, soft and wet and slimily warm, the pelting on the water drew their feet, they forgot Duncairn and the lights behind, all the hates and imaginings that drowned those sad children lost from the winds and tides, rain at night, sting of flesh smitten under rain. Suddenly Ellen’s legs seemed stroked with fire: they ran out into the play of the sea.

Beyond the shore-beat they met a great wave, Ewan tried to cry something, failed, dived, vanished, Ellen felt herself lost, laughed desperately, dived as well. Ewan suddenly beside her: Let’s get back. Over-rough, and she turned about, she seemed sheathed in fire, saltily grainily slipping through water, she fought off cramp, struggled, and found her feet abruptly on the shore again…. Idiots! Goodness, what idiots!

Next minute, wading, she gained the wet sand, saw a glister beside her, Ewan Tavendale, head bent and wiping the water from his hair. Then he whispered Sh—look at that!

Ellen peered up at the promenade and her heart peered up in her throat. The shelter had squatted dark on the slope but now it was lighted with a moving light: Some man or other had gone in there and found their clothes, he’d switched on a torch—

Ewan whispered there was nothing else for it but to tackle him, and they ran up, the wind in Ellen’s hair, she thought I don’t care, it’s fun, she felt warm, suddenly tingling from head to heel. Ewan glimmered in front: at the sound of the pelt of their feet on the sand the light switched about and Ellen for a moment saw Ewan, she thought He’s nice hips, and at that the light vanished, Ewan had caught it and flung it down the Beach.