sodden
ground, getting rid of her sense of inflammation, and being quite alone.
That she should want not to be with Richard, and that she should not be
perfectly pleased with what pleased him, seemed to her monstrous
disloyalty, and she turned and smiled at him. But there was really
something wrong with this room and this hour, for as she looked at him
she felt frightened and ashamed, as if he were drunk, though she knew
that he was sober; and indeed his face was flushed and his eyes wet and
winking, as if smoke had blown in them. For some reason that she could
not understand he reminded her of Mr. Philip.

She cried out imploringly. "Take me down to the marshes, Richard!"

He shook his head and laughed at some private joke. She felt desolate,
like a child at school whom other children shut out from their secrets,
and drooped her head; and heard him say presently: "We are going out
this afternoon, but not on the marshes."

"Where?"

He was overcome with silent laughter when she stamped because he would
not answer. She ran over to him and began to slap him, trying to make a
game of it to cover her near approach to tears. Then he told her, not
because he was concerned with her distress, but because her touch seemed
to put him in a good humour. "We're going to the registrar, my dear, to
fix up everything for our marriage in three weeks' time."

The sense of what he had said did not reach her, because she was gazing
at him to try and find out why he was still reminding her of Mr. Philip.
He was, for one thing, wearing an expression that would have been more
suitable to a smaller man. Oh, he was terribly different to-day! His
eyes, whose wide stare had always worked on her like a spell, were
narrow and glittering, and his lips looked full. She screamed "Oh, no!
Oh, no!" without, for a second, thinking against what thing she was
crying out.

He laughed and pulled her down on his knees. He was laughing more than
she had ever known him laugh before. "Why, don't you want to, you little
thing?"

Her thoughts wandered about the world as she knew it, looking for some
reason. But nothing came to her save the memory of the cold, wet,
unargumentative cry of the redshanks that she had heard on the marshes.
She said feebly, as one who asks for water: "Please, please take me down
to the sea-wall."

His voice swooped resolutely down with tenderness. "But why don't you
want to come and see about our marriage? Are you frightened,