the rough edges smoothed down, all idiosyncrasies allowed for; we knew
when to press hard, so to speak, and when to go light, and the result
was a good, seasoned intimacy that lasted twelve long years.

I have always been a good sailor, a slight headache in an unusually
nasty roll being my only concession to Neptune, and Kitch and I viewed
with cynical tolerance the depressing antics of our less fortunate
fellow-travellers. As we neared the French coast I realised gradually
how good it would be to see Roger again, and found time to regret a
little of my solitary lingering through the damp English winter, which
seemed more oppressive in retrospect than it had been in reality.

For Margarita I had only the kindest feelings and the friendliest
hopes that she would develop into a good wife for Roger. To marry such
a bewitching knot of possibilities was of course more or less a risk,
but on the other hand, if any man could succeed in such an
undertaking, surely that man was our placid, patient Roger! I had
learned patience myself during the winter, by dint of chess and
philosophy, and somehow, as the little Channel boat pitched under me
and the shifty April clouds rolled along the sky over me, life, as it
stretched out for me and Kitchener, was not too gloomy: was even
flavoured with a certain easy freedom that rather tickled my
middle-aged epicurean palate--for the middle thirties were, even
twenty years ago, reasonably middle-aged.

Nevertheless it was impossible not to remember that my feelings had
not always been thus ordered, and when, a few hours later, the guard
let me out of the carriage, and I saw only Roger on the platform, I
realised that I had braced myself a little for a meeting that did not
take place.

"It's good to see you again, Jerry," he said heartily, "mighty good!"
And with his hand gripping mine, I had a moment of whimsical wonder
that any woman born should have been able to threaten such a
friendship for (or by!) the twinkling of an eye.

We talked of our plans, mine, such as they were, being only too ready
to merge into his, which included a stiff climb through the Swiss
Alps; of my Oxford sojourn; of Margarita's music and his readiness to
get back to America as soon as she should feel equal to it. It amused
me a little to discover how simply Roger accepted his role of
indulgent American husband: those men are born to it, I believe--there
seems no crisis, no period of instruction, even. I never