He was glad, absurdly and splendidly glad.

“It can’t last long,” she said, looking up at the black sky, which showed an edge towards the east.

“Suppose we go in again and have some tea?” he said.

Now they had barely concluded coffee.  But she did not seem to mind.

“Well,” she said, “it’s always tea-time for me.”

He saw a clock.  “It’s nearly four,” he said.

Thus justified of the clock, in they went, and sat down in the same seats which they had occupied at the commencement of the adventure in the main lounge.  Priam discovered a bell-push, and commanded China tea and muffins.  He felt that he now, as it were, had an opportunity of making a fresh start in life.  He grew almost gay.  He could be gay without sinning against decorum, for Mrs. Challice’s singular tact had avoided all reference to deaths and funerals.

And in the pause, while he was preparing to be gay, attractive, and in fact his true self, she, calmly stirring China tea, shot a bolt which made him see stars.

“It seems to me,” she observed, “that we might go farther and fare worse—­both of us.”

He genuinely did not catch the significance of it in the first instant, and she saw that he did not.

“Oh,” she proceeded, benevolently and reassuringly, “I mean it.  I’m not gallivanting about.  I mean that if you want my opinion I fancy we could make a match of it.”

It was at this point that he saw stars.  He also saw a faint and delicious blush on her face, whose complexion was extraordinarily fresh and tender.

She sipped China tea, holding each finger wide apart from the others.

He had forgotten the origin of their acquaintance, forgotten that each of them was supposed to have a definite aim in view, forgotten that it was with a purpose that they had exchanged photographs.  It had not occurred to him that marriage hung over him like a sword.  He perceived the sword now, heavy and sharp, and suspended by a thread of appalling fragility.  He dodged.  He did not want to lose her, never to see her again; but he dodged.

“I couldn’t think——­” he began, and stopped.

“Of course it’s a very awkward situation for a man,” she went on, toying with muffin.  “I can quite understand how you feel.  And with most folks you’d be right.  There’s very few women that can judge character, and if you started to try and settle something at once they’d just set you down as a wrong ’un.  But I’m not like that.  I don’t expect any fiddle-faddle.  What I like is plain sense and plain dealing.  We both want to get married, so it would be silly to pretend we didn’t, wouldn’t it?  And it would be ridiculous of me to look for courting and a proposal, and all that sort of thing, just as if I’d never seen a man in his shirt-sleeves.  The only question is:  shall we suit each other?  I’ve told you what I think.  What do you think?”