“Yes, yes,” she said.  “I didn’t really mean it, Neil.  I was just weak for the moment—­that’s all.  Right down in my heart I want everything for you; I could never be contented with less.  I want the whole world to know how they’ve wronged you; I want you to be famous and powerful and splendid, and I want the people who’ve abused you to come and smirk and grovel to you, and say that they knew all the time that you were innocent.”  She stopped and took a deep breath.  “And they shall, Neil.  I’m as certain of it as if I saw it happening.  I seem to know inside me that we’re on the very point of finding out the truth.”

I don’t think my worst enemy would accuse me of being superstitious, but there was a ring of conviction in Joyce’s voice which somehow or other affected me curiously.

“I believe you’re right,” I said.  “I’ve got something of that sort of feeling too.  Perhaps it’s infectious.”  Then, letting go her hand, to spare the feelings of the waiter who had just come into the room, I sat back in my chair and ordered the bill.

We didn’t talk much on our way to the station.  I think we were both feeling rather depressed at the prospect of doing without each other for at least twenty-four hours, and in any case the trams and motors and jostling crowd of holiday-makers who filled the main street would have rendered any connected conversation rather a difficult art.

A good many people favoured Joyce with glances of admiration, especially a spruce-looking young constable who officially held up the traffic to allow us to cross the road.  He paid no attention at all to me, but I consoled myself with the reflection that he was missing an excellent chance of promotion.

At the station I put Joyce into a first-class carriage, kissed her affectionately under the disapproving eye of an old lady in the opposite corner, and then stood on the platform until the train steamed slowly out of the station.

I turned away at last, feeling quite unpleasantly alone.  It’s no good worrying about what can’t be altered, however, so, lighting a cigar, I strolled back philosophically to the hotel, where I treated myself to the luxury of a hot bath before rejoining the boat.

It must have been pretty nearly half-past four by the time I reached the pier-head.  My friend with the hoarse voice and the blue jersey was still hanging around, looking rather thirsty and exhausted after his strenuous day’s work of watching over the dinghy.  I gave him half a crown for his trouble, and followed by his benediction pulled off for the Belly.

The wind had gone round a bit to the south, and as the tide was still coming in I decided to sail up to the creek in preference to using the engine.  The confounded throb of the latter always got on my nerves, and apart from that I felt that the mere fact of having to handle the sails would keep my mind lightly but healthily occupied.  Unless I was mistaken, a little light healthy occupation was exactly what my mind needed.