ll not to speak of the plain face pressed against the
window, of the dark loiterer in the garden. Murmuring, "Oh, she'll be
back in a minute," she opened her arms to him.

He swung her out of the chair and sat down himself, gathering her very
close. "Oh, my Ellen, you are the very colour of that red deer I saw run
across the road!" he whispered in her ear. She knew immediately, from
the peace that fell on his deep, driving breath, from the way that his
lips lifted and let the splendour of his eyes shine out again, that he
too was aware of her recovery of normal joy and was refreshing himself
with it. She drooped down towards his mouth, but at the last minute he
avoided her kiss and said irritably: "I wonder if Roger made an awful
ass of himself preaching to-night?"

"I've no doubt," answered Ellen, "that he made Jesus most dislikeable.
But with all the attention Christianity gets, it can put up with a
setback here and there."

"It's not that I'm worrying about," he told her. "I can't bear having
mother's name bandied about again after the hell of a time she's had."
He stared in front of him with obsessed eyes.

Ellen shifted uneasily on his knee. She would have liked to take his
face between her hands and tilt it down till his eyes looked into hers;
but that was no use, for however she tilted it, his eyes would shift
from her face to focus themselves on some blankness which he could fill
with his obsession. She folded her arms round his neck and clung closer,
closer. It would be all right if she could have a little time alone with
him. The thudding of his heart made her think of the engine of a
steamer; and so of the voyage which they had planned to make when they
were married, landing only where the sea beat on a shore as lovely as
itself. She sat forward on his knee and picked up a copy of the Times
which lay on a small table near them, and turned it over till she found
the mails and shipping columns; and she began to chant what her eye
first saw.

"'Lamport and Holt. _Bruyere_, passed Fernando Noronha, 21st, Clyde, for
Rosario. _Lalande_, left Santos 20th, Liverpool for Rio Grande.
_Leighton_, arrived Buenos Aires 20th from Liverpool. _Vestris_, left
Pernambuco 17th for New Orleans.' Richard, have you ever been to
Pernambuco?"

"Once," he said.

"What like is it?" she said in her Scotch way.

"Oh, I don't know.... It's supposed to be like Venice."

"Like Venice? Why?"

"Oh, there are waterways ... and al