she answered.

She would have turned back the way they had come, but Feathers resolutely barred the way.

"Mrs. Lawless, don't you think it would be much wiser to come along and meet them?" he asked deliberately.

She raised her troubled eyes to his.

"I don't want to ... why need I? Oh, do you think I must?"

He tried to laugh, as if it were a subject of no importance.

"Why not? They have probably seen us."

He could see refusal in her face; then all at once she gave in.

"Very well." But her steps dragged as she followed him down to the sands, and her face had not regained its color.

Feathers was racking his brains for means whereby to disperse the suspicion which he knew was in her mind. He was cursing Chris with all his heart, even while he was level-headed enough to guess that in all probability his friend's meeting with Mrs. Heriot was entirely one of chance. When they were near enough he called out to them cheerily:

"Now, then, you two, it's breakfast time, so hurry! Mrs. Lawless and I have been right along to the headland."

It was not the truth, but Marie hardly noticed what he said; she was trying desperately to recover her composure and face Mrs.

Heriot with a smile.

They walked back to the hotel, the two men behind.

"I am so sorry we are leaving, now it has really come to the point," Marie said. She kept her hands clenched in the pockets of the little woolly coat she wore; she wondered if the elder woman could hear the hardness of her voice.

"I'm ever so sorry, too," Mrs. Heriot said gushingly. "It's the worst of an hotel, isn't it? As soon as one gets to like people they leave."

"One can always meet them again," Marie said deliberately. She was wondering desperately if Chris had already made some such arrangement with this woman.

Mrs. Heriot smiled enigmatically.

"It so seldom happens, though," she said. "Life is so like that book, 'Ships that pa.s.s in the night,' don't you think?"

"I haven't read it," Marie said bluntly.

She hated Mrs. Heriot, hated everything about her--her voice, her smile, even her clothes--she hated them all; she went straight in to breakfast without waiting for Chris, and when he joined her she was quite well aware that his eyes were turned to her again and again anxiously.

Directly breakfast was over she turned to go upstairs, but he Followed.

"Where are you going, Marie Celeste?" He tried hard to speak naturally, but he had never felt more uncomfortable in his life; he knew what Marie must be thinking, and he realized that the only explanation he could offer of his early walk with Mrs. Heriot was a very thin one indeed.

She answered without stopping or looking round.

"I am going to finish packing."

"I'll come with you."

She did not answer, and he followed her up to her room.

"Why don't you go and have a swim?" she asked then. "It's a pity to waste the last morning indoors."

"I will go if you will come with me," he said at once.

She shook her head.

"No, thank you; I haven't got the nerve."

"You'll be perfectly safe with me; I'll look after you."

She shook her head again.

"No, thank you."

She began walking about the room, folding up the few things she had not already packed and ramming them anyhow into the open trunk.

Chris watched her for a moment with morose eyes; then all at once he blurted out:

"Hang it all! I know what you're thinking, so why don't you say it?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You do know. Marie, stop walking about and come here."

"I can't; there's a lot to do, and I'm busy."

Chris strode across to her, tore the little frock she was folding from her hands and threw it down on the bed.

"I hate being treated like this!" he said pa.s.sionately. "I won't have it! If you think I arranged to meet that infernal woman, why the devil can't you say so and have done with it?"

"I don't care if you arranged to meet her or not."

He laughed. "You do! I could see in your face at once that you were angry about it. Come, Marie Celeste, own up!"

He laid his hand on her arm carelessly, but she flung him off; his touch seemed to rouse all her pent-up pa.s.sion and bitterness; her eyes blazed as she turned and faced him.

"How many more times am I to tell you that I don't care what you do or who you spend your time with? You can go out with Mrs. Heriot all day and every day for all I care. I should stay down here longer, if I were you; there's no need for you to come home."

She was trembling in every limb; she leaned against the end of the bed to steady herself.

Chris had flushed up to his eyes; he had a hot temper once it was aroused, as Marie knew, and something in the way in which she looked at him had roused it now.

He answered as angrily as she that he should choose his own friends, and spend his time as he liked; if she thought he was going to be tied to her ap.r.o.n strings for the rest of his life she was mistaken; he had been used to having his own way, and he was going to continue to have it. Having relieved himself of a few more violent remarks, he calmed down a little, strode over to the window and flung it wide.

"Dash it all," he went on presently, more quietly. "It's no worse than you walking about the whole time with Feathers. I might just as well cut up rough and forbid you to speak to him, but I'm not such a fool; I hope I can trust you." He liked the sound of that last phrase; he thought it exceedingly tactful; he looked round at his wife with a faint smile.

He thought he knew her so well--thought he had sounded every depth and shallow of her nature. All their lives they had had these little breezes, which had blown over almost at once and been forgotten.