queer of Janey, wasn't it? Why
couldn't she have told the stewardess to say good-bye for her? Why did
she have to go chasing after the ship's doctor? She could have sent
a note from the hotel even if the affair had been urgent. Urgent? Did
it--could it mean that she had been ill on the voyage--she was keeping
something from him? That was it! He seized his hat. He was going off
to find that fellow and to wring the truth out of him at all costs. He
thought he'd noticed just something. She was just a touch too calm--too
steady. From the very first moment--

The curtains rang. Janey was back. He jumped to his feet.

"Janey, have you been ill on this voyage? You have!"

"Ill?" Her airy little voice mocked him. She stepped over the rugs, and
came up close, touched his breast, and looked up at him.

"Darling," she said, "don't frighten me. Of course I haven't! Whatever
makes you think I have? Do I look ill?"

But Hammond didn't see her. He only felt that she was looking at him
and that there was no need to worry about anything. She was here to look
after things. It was all right. Everything was.

The gentle pressure of her hand was so calming that he put his over hers
to hold it there. And she said:

"Stand still. I want to look at you. I haven't seen you yet. You've
had your beard beautifully trimmed, and you look--younger, I think, and
decidedly thinner! Bachelor life agrees with you."

"Agrees with me!" He groaned for love and caught her close again. And
again, as always, he had the feeling that he was holding something that
never was quite his--his. Something too delicate, too precious, that
would fly away once he let go.

"For God's sake let's get off to the hotel so that we can be by
ourselves!" And he rang the bell hard for some one to look sharp with
the luggage.

*****

Walking down the wharf together she took his arm. He had her on his arm
again. And the difference it made to get into the cab after Janey--to
throw the red-and-yellow striped blanket round them both--to tell the
driver to hurry because neither of them had had any tea. No more going
without his tea or pouring out his own. She was back. He turned to her,
squeezed her hand, and said gently, teasingly, in the "special" voice
he had for her: "Glad to be home again, dearie?" She smiled; she didn't
even bother to answer, but gently she drew his hand away as they came to
the brighter streets.

"We've got the best room in the hotel," he said. "I