‘But—­’

‘Come for a walk.’

‘Very well,’ I consented.  ‘As I am?’

’As you are.  I saw you all in white on the balcony, and I was determined to fetch you out.’

‘But could you see who it was from the road?’

‘Of course I could.  I knew in an instant.’

We descended, he a couple of paces in front of me, the narrow zigzag path leading down between two other hotels to the shore road.

‘What will happen now?’ I asked myself wildly.  My head swam.

It seemed that nothing would happen.  We turned eastwards, walking slowly, and I began to resume my self-control.  Only the simple and the humble were abroad at that early hour:  purveyors of food, in cheerfully rattling carts, or hauling barrows with the help of grave and formidable dogs; washers and cleaners at the doors of highly-decorated villas, amiably performing their tasks while the mighty slept; fishermen and fat fisher-girls, industriously repairing endless brown nets on the other side of the parapet of the road; a postman and a little policeman; a porcelain mender, who practised his trade under the shadow of the wall; a few loafers; some stable-boys exercising horses; and children with adorable dirty faces, shouting in their high treble as they played at hopscotch.  I felt very closely akin to these meek ones as we walked along.  They were so human, so wistful.  They had the wonderful simplicity of animals, uncomplicated by the disease of self-consciousness; they were the vital stuff without the embroidery.  They preserved the customs of their ancestors, rising with the sun, frankly and splendidly enjoying the sun, looking up to it as the most important thing in the world.  They never attempted to understand what was beyond them; they troubled not with progress, ideals, righteousness, the claims of society.  They accepted humbly and uninquiringly what they found.  They lived the life of their instincts, sometimes violent, often kindly, and always natural.  Why should I have felt so near to them?

A calm and gentle pleasure filled me, far from intense, but yet satisfying.  I determined to enjoy the moment, or, perhaps, without determination, I gave myself up, gradually, to the moment.  I forgot care and sorrow.  I was well; I was with Frank; I was in the midst of enchanting natural beauty; the day was fair and fresh and virgin.  I knew not where I was going.  Shorewards a snowy mountain ridge rose above the long, wide slopes of olives, dotted with white dwellings.  A single sail stood up seawards on the immense sheet of blue.  The white sail appeared and disappeared in the green palm-trees as we passed eastwards.  Presently we left the sea, and we lost the hills, and came into a street of poor little shops for simple folk, that naively exposed their cheap and tawdry goods to no matter what mightiness should saunter that way.  And then we came to the end of the tram-line, and it was like the end of the world.  And we saw in the distance