't mean that."

"Why not?"

"Well, it won't make any difference to our marriage, being married three
weeks later--but it'll make an unaccountable difference to my wool
prices if the shearers don't do their job proper--and then there's the
hay."

"On the contrary, child--it will make a difference to our marriage. We
shall have started with Ansdore between us."

"What nonsense."

"Well, I can't argue with you--you must do as you like. My wife is a
very strong-willed person, who will keep her husband in proper order.
But he loves her enough to bear it."

He kissed her gently, and they both stood up. At the same time there was
a sharp scud of rain against the window.

Sec.18

The journey home was quieter and dimmer than the journey out. Their
voices and footsteps were muffled in the roar of the wind, which had
risen from sorrow to anger. The rain beat in their faces as they walked
arm in arm over the shingle. They could not hurry, for at every step
their feet sank.

"I said it was a tedious hole," reiterated Joanna, "and now perhaps
you'll believe me--the folk here walk with boards on their feet, what
they call backstays. Our shoes will be just about ruined."

She was not quite happy, for she felt that Martin was displeased with
her, though he made no reproaches. He did not like her to arrange their
wedding day to fit in with the shearing. But what else could she do? If
she was away when the shearers came, there'd be no end to their goings
on with the girls, and besides, who'd see that the work was done proper
and the tegs not scared out of their lives?

It was only six o'clock, but a premature darkness was falling as the
clouds dropped over Dunge Marsh, and the rain hung like a curtain over
Rye Bay, blotting out all distances, showing them nothing but the
crumbling, uncertain track. In half an hour they were both wet through
to their shoulders, for the rain came down with all the drench of May.
Joanna could see that Martin was beginning to be worried about
himself--he was worried about her too, but he was more preoccupied with
his own health than other men she knew, the only way in which he
occasionally betrayed the weak foundations of his stalwart looks.

"The worst of it is, we'll have to sit for an hour in the dog-cart after
we get to Jury's Gap. You'll catch your death of cold, Joanna."

"Not I! I often say I'm like our Romney sheep--I can stand all winds and
waters. But you're not used to it lik