She was dressed in her long fur cloak, with the veils wound around her head, and once more the rich boxes stood on top of each other so that the scene of a few days back seemed to be repeated.

“D’you suppose we shall ever meet in London?” said Ridley ironically.  “You’ll have forgotten all about me by the time you step out there.”

He pointed to the shore of the little bay, where they could now see the separate trees with moving branches.

“How horrid you are!” she laughed.  “Rachel’s coming to see me anyhow—­the instant you get back,” she said, pressing Rachel’s arm.  “Now—­you’ve no excuse!”

With a silver pencil she wrote her name and address on the flyleaf of Persuasion, and gave the book to Rachel.  Sailors were shouldering the luggage, and people were beginning to congregate.  There were Captain Cobbold, Mr. Grice, Willoughby, Helen, and an obscure grateful man in a blue jersey.

“Oh, it’s time,” said Clarissa.  “Well, good-bye.  I do like you,” she murmured as she kissed Rachel.  People in the way made it unnecessary for Richard to shake Rachel by the hand; he managed to look at her very stiffly for a second before he followed his wife down the ship’s side.

The boat separating from the vessel made off towards the land, and for some minutes Helen, Ridley, and Rachel leant over the rail, watching.  Once Mrs. Dalloway turned and waved; but the boat steadily grew smaller and smaller until it ceased to rise and fall, and nothing could be seen save two resolute backs.

“Well, that’s over,” said Ridley after a long silence.  “We shall never see them again,” he added, turning to go to his books.  A feeling of emptiness and melancholy came over them; they knew in their hearts that it was over, and that they had parted for ever, and the knowledge filled them with far greater depression than the length of their acquaintance seemed to justify.  Even as the boat pulled away they could feel other sights and sounds beginning to take the place of the Dalloways, and the feeling was so unpleasant that they tried to resist it.  For so, too, would they be forgotten.

In much the same way as Mrs. Chailey downstairs was sweeping the withered rose-leaves off the dressing-table, so Helen was anxious to make things straight again after the visitors had gone.  Rachel’s obvious languor and listlessness made her an easy prey, and indeed Helen had devised a kind of trap.  That something had happened she now felt pretty certain; moreover, she had come to think that they had been strangers long enough; she wished to know what the girl was like, partly of course because Rachel showed no disposition to be known.  So, as they turned from the rail, she said: 

“Come and talk to me instead of practising,” and led the way to the sheltered side where the deck-chairs were stretched in the sun.  Rachel followed her indifferently.  Her mind was absorbed by Richard; by the extreme strangeness of what had happened, and by a thousand feelings of which she had not been conscious before.  She made scarcely any attempt to listen to what Helen was saying, as Helen indulged in commonplaces to begin with.  While Mrs. Ambrose arranged her embroidery, sucked her silk, and threaded her needle, she lay back gazing at the horizon.