of his sailor suit which little
boys do not usually stick out in. His poor mother, too ... the tears
rolled down Joanna's face, and her throat was speechless and swollen ...
something seemed to be tugging at her heart ... she grew ashamed, almost
frightened. It was a positive relief when the curtain came down, and
rose again to show that little Willie had done likewise and stood bowing
right and left in his night-shirt.

Still the tears would furtively trickle ... what a fool she was
getting--it must be the wine. My, but she had a weak head ... she must
never take another glass. Then suddenly, in the darkness, she felt a
hand take hers, pick it up, set it on a person's knee ... her hand lay
palm downwards on his knee, and his own lay over it--she began to
tremble and her heart turned to water. The tears ran on and on.

... They were outside, the cool sea wind blew over them, and in the wind
was the roar of the sea. Without a word they slipped out of the stream
of people heading for the pier gates, and went to the railing, where
they stood looking down on the black water.

"Why are you crying, dear?" asked Hill tenderly, as his arm crept round
her.

"I dunno--I'm not the one to cry. But that little chap ... and his poor
mother ..."

"You soft-hearted darling." ... He held her close, in all her gracious
and supple warmth, which even the fierceness of her stays could not
quite keep from him. Oh, she was the dearest thing, so crude and yet so
soft ... how glad he was he had not drawn back at the beginning, as he
had half thought of doing ... she was the loveliest woman,
adorable--mature, yet unsophisticated ... she was like a quince, ripe
and golden red, yet with a delicious tartness.

"Joanna," he breathed, his mouth close to the tawny, flying anthers of
her hair--"Do you think you could love me?"

He felt her hair stroke his lips, as she turned her head. He saw her
eyes bright with tears and passion. Then suddenly she broke from him--

"I can't--I can't ... it's more than I can bear."

He came after her, overtaking her just before the gate.

"Darling thing, what's the matter?--You ain't afraid?"

"No--no--it isn't that. Only I can't bear ... beginning to feel it ...
again."

"Again?"

"Yes--I told you a bit ... I can't tell you any more."

"But the chap's dead."

"Yes."

"Hang it all, we're alive ..." and she surrendered to his living mouth.

Sec.16

That night she slept, and the next mornin