drich Kammerkreutz." Rosalind gave him her nearest recollection,
seeing nothing to be gained by doing otherwise. Any concealment, too,
the chances were, would make matters worse instead of better.

"It was Kreutzkammer, in my--dream or whatever you call it." They
stopped and looked at each other, and Rosalind replied, "It _was_
Kreutzkammer. Oh dear!" rather as one who had lost breath from some
kind of blow.

He saw her distress instantly, and was all alive to soothe it.
"Don't be frightened, darling love!" he cried, and then his great
good-humoured laugh broke into the tenderness of his speech, without
spoiling it. He was so like Gerry, the boy that rode away that day
in the dog-cart, when there was "only mamma for the girl."

"But when all's said and done," said she, harking back for a reprieve,
"perhaps you only recollected Sonnenberg in your dream better than
I did ... just now...." She hung fire of repeating the name Herrick.

"_Ach zo_," he answered, teutonically for the moment, from association
with the Baron. "But suppose it all true, dearest, and that I'm going
to come to life again, what does it matter? It can't alter _us_, that
I can see. Could anything that you can imagine? I should be Gerry for
you, and you would be Rosey for me, to the end of it." Her assent had
a mere echo of hesitation. But he detected it, and went on: "Unless,
you mean, I remembered the hypothetical wife?..."

"Ye--es!--partly."

"Well! I tell you honestly, Rosey darling, if I do, I shall keep her
to myself. A plaguing, intrusive female--to come between _us_. But
there's no such person!" At which they both laughed, remembering the
great original non-exister. But even here was a little thorn. For Mrs.
Harris brought back the name the Baron had known Gerry by. He did not
seem to have resumed it in his dream.

The jetty ran a little way out to sea. Thus phraseology in use. It
might have reconsidered itself, and said that the jetty had at some
very remote time run out to sea and stopped there. Ever since, the sea
had broken over it at high tides, and if you cared at all about your
clothes you wouldn't go to the end of it, if you were me. Because the
salt gets into them and spoils the dye. Besides, you have to change
everything.

There was a dry place at the end of the jetty, and along the edge of
the dry place were such things as cables go round and try hard to
draw, as we drew the teeth of our childhood with string. But they fail