there's some water in 'em yet."

"And what about it?"

"Come and look."

Paul reluctantly got out of bed and went to look at the rather handsome
legs of the other man that were covered with glistening, dark gold hair.

"Look here," said Dawes, pointing to his shin. "Look at the water under
here."

"Where?" said Paul.

The man pressed in his finger-tips. They left little dents that filled
up slowly.

"It's nothing," said Paul.

"You feel," said Dawes.

Paul tried with his fingers. It made little dents.

"H'm!" he said.

"Rotten, isn't it?" said Dawes.

"Why? It's nothing much."

"You're not much of a man with water in your legs."

"I can't see as it makes any difference," said Morel. "I've got a weak
chest."

He returned to his own bed.

"I suppose the rest of me's all right," said Dawes, and he put out the
light.

In the morning it was raining. Morel packed his bag. The sea was grey
and shaggy and dismal. He seemed to be cutting himself off from life
more and more. It gave him a wicked pleasure to do it.

The two men were at the station. Clara stepped out of the train, and
came along the platform, very erect and coldly composed. She wore a long
coat and a tweed hat. Both men hated her for her composure. Paul shook
hands with her at the barrier. Dawes was leaning against the bookstall,
watching. His black overcoat was buttoned up to the chin because of the
rain. He was pale, with almost a touch of nobility in his quietness. He
came forward, limping slightly.

"You ought to look better than this," she said.

"Oh, I'm all right now."

The three stood at a loss. She kept the two men hesitating near her.

"Shall we go to the lodging straight off," said Paul, "or somewhere
else?"

"We may as well go home," said Dawes.

Paul walked on the outside of the pavement, then Dawes, then Clara. They
made polite conversation. The sitting-room faced the sea, whose tide,
grey and shaggy, hissed not far off.

Morel swung up the big arm-chair.

"Sit down, Jack," he said.

"I don't want that chair," said Dawes.

"Sit down!" Morel repeated.

Clara took off her things and laid them on the couch. She had a slight
air of resentment. Lifting her hair with her fingers, she sat down,
rather aloof and composed. Paul ran downstairs to speak to the landlady.

"I should think you're cold," said Dawes to his wife. "Come nearer to
the fire."

"Thank you, I'm quite warm," she answered.

She looked out of the