would
happen, instead of which nothing happened, and here they were as
uncomfortable, as restrained, as self-conscious as ever. That, of
course, was what came of looking forward to anything; one was always
disappointed. He blamed Wilfrid Flushing, who was so well dressed and so
formal; he blamed Hewet and Rachel. Why didn't they talk? He looked at
them sitting silent and self-absorbed, and the sight annoyed him. He
supposed that they were engaged, or about to become engaged, but
instead of being in the least romantic or exciting, that was as dull as
everything else; it annoyed him, too, to think that they were in love.
He drew close to Helen and began to tell her how uncomfortable his night
had been, lying on the deck, sometimes too hot, sometimes too cold, and
the stars so bright that he couldn't get to sleep. He had lain awake
all night thinking, and when it was light enough to see, he had written
twenty lines of his poem on God, and the awful thing was that he'd
practically proved the fact that God did not exist. He did not see that
he was teasing her, and he went on to wonder what would happen if God
did exist--"an old gentleman in a beard and a long blue dressing gown,
extremely testy and disagreeable as he's bound to be? Can you suggest a
rhyme? God, rod, sod--all used; any others?"

Although he spoke much as usual, Helen could have seen, had she looked,
that he was also impatient and disturbed. But she was not called upon to
answer, for Mr. Flushing now exclaimed "There!" They looked at the hut
on the bank, a desolate place with a large rent in the roof, and the
ground round it yellow, scarred with fires and scattered with rusty open
tins.

"Did they find his dead body there?" Mrs. Flushing exclaimed, leaning
forward in her eagerness to see the spot where the explorer had died.

"They found his body and his skins and a notebook," her husband replied.
But the boat had soon carried them on and left the place behind.

It was so hot that they scarcely moved, except now to change a foot, or,
again, to strike a match. Their eyes, concentrated upon the bank, were
full of the same green reflections, and their lips were slightly pressed
together as though the sights they were passing gave rise to thoughts,
save that Hirst's lips moved intermittently as half consciously he
sought rhymes for God. Whatever the thoughts of the others, no one said
anything for a considerable space. They had grown so accustomed to the
wall