he returned as if he had been running, full of some
nameless fear; he would strain Victoria to him and hold her very close,
burying his face below the bedclothes as if he were afraid. On one of
those days Victoria accidentally saw him come out of a small dissenting
chapel near by. He did not see her, for he was walking away like a man
possessed; she said nothing of this but understood him better, having an
inkling that the fight against the Rawsley tradition was still going on.

She did not, however, allow herself to be moved by his struggle. It
behoved her to hold him, for he was her last chance and the world looked
rosy round her. As the spring turned into summer he became more utterly
hers.

'You distil poison for me,' he said one day as they sat by the rose hung
pergola.

'No, Jack, don't say that, it's the elixir of life.'

'The elixir of life. Perhaps, but poison too. To make me live is to make
me die, Victoria; we are both sickening for death and to hasten the
current of life is to hasten our doom.'

'Live quickly,' she whispered, bending towards him, 'did you live at all
a year ago?'

'No, no.' His arms were round her and his lips insistent on hers. He
frightened her a little, though. She would have to take him away. She
had already confided this new trouble to Betty when the latter came to
see her in April, but Betty, beyond suggesting cricket, had been too
full of her own affairs. Apparently these were not going very well.
Anderson & Dromo's had not granted the rise, and the marriage had been
postponed. Meanwhile she was still at the P. R. R., and very, very
happy. Betty too, her baby, her other baby, frightened Victoria a
little. She was so rosy, so pretty now, and there was something defiant
and excited about her that might presage disease. But Betty had not
come near her for the last two months.

About the middle of June she took Jack away to Broadstairs. He was
willing to go or stay, just as she liked. He seemed so neutral that
Victoria experimented upon him by presenting him with a sheaf of unpaid
bills. He looked at them languidly and said he supposed they must be
paid, asked her to add them up and wrote a cheque for the full amount.
Apparently he had forgotten all about the allowance, or did not care.

Broadstairs seemed to do him good. Except at the week end the Hotel
Sylvester was almost empty. The sea breeze blew stiffly from the north
or the east. His colour increased and once more he bega