It was still in the early afternoon that we came down again across the ice-water streams to our old boat, and pushed off and rowed slowly out of that magic corner back to every-day again....  
Little we knew to what it was we rowed.
 
As we across the water and rounded the headland and came slowly into view of the hotel again, Mary was reminded of our parting and for a little while she was disposed to make me remain. "If you could stay a little longer," she said,—"Another day? If any harm is done, it's done."
 
"It has been beautiful," I said, "this meeting. It's just as if—when I was so and discouraged that I could have put my work aside and despaired altogether,—some power had said, 'Have you forgotten the friendship I gave you?' ... But we shall have had our time. We've met,—we've seen one another, we've heard one another. We've hurt no one...."
 
"You will go?"
 
"To-day. Before sunset. Isn't it right that I should go?"
 
"Stay," she whispered, with a light in her eyes.
 
"No. I dare not."
 
 
She did not speak for a long time.
 
"Of course," she said at last, "you're right. You only said—I would have said it for you if you had not. You're so right, Stephen.... I suppose, poor silly little things, that if you stayed we should certainly begin making love to each other. It would be—necessary. We should fence about............