s and cliffs, and then we were coasting beside them. That night
I should be in Paris with Maude. My bag was packed, my steamer trunk
closed. I strayed about the decks, in and out of the saloons,
wondering at the indifference of other passengers who sat reading in
steamer-chairs or wrote last letters to be posted at Havre. I was
filled with impatience, anticipation, yes, with anxiety concerning the
adventure that was now so imminent; with wavering doubts. Had I done the
wisest thing after all? I had the familiar experience that often comes
just before reunion after absence of recalling intimate and forgotten
impressions of those whom I was about to see again the tones of their
voices, little gestures....

How would they receive me?

The great ship had slowed down and was entering the harbour, carefully
threading her way amongst smaller craft, the passengers lining the rails
and gazing at the animated scene, at the quaint and cheerful French
city bathed in sunlight.... I had reached the dock and was making my way
through the hurrying and shifting groups toward the steamer train when
I saw Maude. She was standing a little aside, scanning the faces that
passed her.

I remember how she looked at me, expectantly, yet timidly, almost
fearfully. I kissed her.

"You've come to meet me!" I exclaimed stupidly. "How are the children?"

"They're very well, Hugh. They wanted to come, too, but I thought it
better not."

Her restraint struck me as extraordinary; and while I was thankful for
the relief it brought to a situation which might have been awkward, I
was conscious of resenting it a little. I was impressed and puzzled. As
I walked along the platform beside her she seemed almost a stranger:
I had difficulty in realizing that she was my wife, the mother of my
children. Her eyes were clear, more serious than I recalled them, and
her physical as well as her moral tone seemed to have improved. Her
cheeks glowed with health, and she wore a becoming suit of dark blue.

"Did you have a good trip, Hugh?" she asked.

"Splendid," I said, forgetting the storm. We took our seats in an empty
compartment. Was she glad to see me? She had come all the way from Paris
to meet me! All the embarrassment seemed to be on my side. Was
this composure a controlled one or had she indeed attained to the
self-sufficiency her manner and presence implied? Such were the
questions running through my head.

"You've really liked Paris?" I asked.

"Y