g, all frustrated, all incomplete. Anne, in her sublime
infidelity to earth; Maggie, turned from her own sweet use that she might
give him what Anne could not give; and he, who between them had severed
his body from his soul.

Thus he brooded.

And Maggie, with her face hidden against his knee, brooded too, piercing
the illusion.

He tried to win her from her sad thoughts by talking again of the house
and garden. But Maggie was tired of the house and garden now.

"And do the Pearsons look after you well still?" he asked.

"Yes. Very well."

"And Steve--is he as good to you as ever?"

Maggie brightened and became more communicative.

"Yes, very good. He was all day mending my bicycle, Sunday, and he takes
me out in the boat sometimes; and he's made such a dear little house for
the old Angora rabbit."

"Do you like going out in the boat?"

"Yes, very much."

"Do you like going out with him?"

"No," said Maggie, making a little face, half of disgust and half of
derision. "No. His hands are all dirty, and he smells of fish."

Majendie laughed. "There are drawbacks, I must own, to Steve."

He looked at his watch, an action Maggie hated. It always suggested
finality, departure.

"Ten o'clock, Maggie. I must be up at six to-morrow. We sail at seven."

"At seven," echoed Maggie in despair.

They were up at six. Maggie went with him to the creek, to see him sail.
In the garden she picked a chrysanthemum and stuck it in his buttonhole,
forgetting that he couldn't wear her token. There were so many things
he couldn't do.

A little rain still fell through a clogging mist. They walked side by
side, treading the drenched grass, for the track was too narrow for them
both. Maggie's feet dragged, prolonging the moments.

A white pointed sail showed through the mist, where the little yacht lay
in the river off the mouth of the creek.

Steve was in the boat close against the creek's bank, waiting to row
Majendie to the yacht. He touched his cap to Majendie as they appeared on
the bank, but he did not look at Maggie when her gentle voice called
good-morning.

Steve's face was close-mouthed and hard set.

She put her hands on Majendie's shoulders and kissed him. Her cheek
against his face was pure and cold, wet with the rain. Steve did not look
at them. He never looked at them when they were together.

Majendie dropped into the boat. Steve pushed off from the bank. Maggie
stood there watching them go. She stood