“I believe that you are right,” he said softly. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. He had been hard since they had taken their clothes off. You must be lonely here with only a few men friends. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own.
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