m Zambesi Land came
out of one of the secret drawers and said Billy must give him both
of his feet as he needed them for his working-girls' classes; and
thereupon the sharks poked their heads out of the water and began, in
a deafening chorus, to cry, "Feet, feet, feet!" And Billy then woke
with a start, and found it was only the birds chattering in the dawn
outside.

Then he was miserable.

He tossed, and groaned, and dozed, and smoked cigarettes until he
could stand it no longer. He got up and dressed, in sheer desperation,
and went for a walk in the gardens.

The day was clear as a new-minted coin. It was not yet wholly aired,
not wholly free from the damp savour of night, but low in the east the
sun was taking heart. A mile-long shadow footed it with Billy Woods
in his pacings through the amber-chequered gardens. Actaeon-like, he
surprised the world at its toilet, and its fleeting grace somewhat
fortified his spirits.

But his thoughts pestered him like gnats. The things he said to the
roses it is not necessary to set down.

XV

After a vituperative half-hour or so Mr. Woods was hungry. He came
back toward Selwoode; and upon the terrace in front of the house he
found Kathleen Saumarez.

During the warm weather, one corner of the terrace had been converted,
by means of gay red-and-white awnings, into a sort of living-room.
There were chairs, tables, sofa-cushions, bowls of roses, and any
number of bright-coloured rugs. Altogether, it was a cosy place,
and the glowing hues of its furnishings were very becoming to Mrs.
Saumarez, who sat there writing industriously.

It was a thought embarrassing. They had avoided one another
yesterday--rather obviously--both striving to put off a necessarily
awkward meeting. Now it had come. And now, somehow, their eyes met for
a moment, and they laughed frankly, and the awkwardness was gone.

"Kathleen," said Mr. Woods, with conviction, "you're a dear."

"You broke my heart," said she, demurely, "but I'm going to forgive
you."

Mrs. Saumarez was not striving to be clever now. And, heavens (thought
Billy), how much nicer she was like this! It wasn't the same woman:
her thin cheeks flushed arbutus-like, and her rather metallic voice
was grown low and gentle. Billy brought memories with him, you see;
and for the moment, she was Kathleen Eppes again--Kathleen Eppes in
the first flush of youth, eager, trustful, and joyous-hearted, as he
had known her long ago. Since then