Joanna told him of an inspiration she had had with regard to the poorer innings of Great Ansdore—­she was going to put down fish-guts for manure—­it had done wonders with some rough land over by Botolph’s Bridge—­“Reckon it’ll half stink the tenants out, but they’re at the beginning of a seven years lease, so they can’t help themselves much.”  She held forth at great length, and Arthur listened, holding his cup and saucer carefully on his knee with his big freckled hands.  His eyes were fixed on Joanna, on the strong-featured, high-coloured face he thought so much more beautiful than Ellen’s with its delicate lines and pale, petal-like skin....  Yes, Joanna was the girl all along—­the one for looks, the one for character—­give him Joanna every time, with her red and brown face, and thick brown hair, and her high, deep bosom, and sturdy, comfortable waist ... why couldn’t he have had Joanna, instead of what he’d got, which was nothing?  For the first time in his life Arthur Alce came near to questioning the ways of Providence.  Reckon it was the last thing he would ever do for her—­this going away.  He wasn’t likely to come back, though he did talk of it, just to keep up their spirits.  He would probably settle down in the shires—­go into partnership with his brother—­run a bigger place than Donkey Street, than Ansdore even.

“Well, I must be going now.  There’s still a great lot of things to be tidied up.”

He rose, awkwardly setting down his cup.  Joanna rose too.  The sunset, rusty with the evening sea-mist, poured over her goodly form as she stood against the window, making its outlines dim and fiery and her hair like a burning crown.

“I shall miss you, Arthur.”

He did not speak, and she held out her hand.

“Good-bye.”

He could not say it—­instead he pulled her towards him by the hand he held.

“Jo—­I must.”

“Arthur—­no!”

But it was too late—­he had kissed her.

“That’s the first time you done it,” she said reproachfully.

“Because it’s the last.  You aren’t angry, are you?”

“I?—­no.  But, Arthur, you mustn’t forget you’re married to Ellen.”

“Am I like to forget it?—­And seeing all the dunnamany kisses she’s given to another man, reckon she won’t grudge me this one poor kiss I’ve given the woman I’ve loved without clasp or kiss for fifteen years.”

For the first time she heard in his voice both bitterness and passion, and at that moment the man himself seemed curiously to come alive and to compel....  But Joanna was not going to dally with temptation in the unaccustomed shape of Arthur Alce.  She pushed open the door.

“Have they brought round Ranger?—­Hi!  Peter Crouch!—­Yes, there he is.  You’ll have a good ride home, Arthur.”

“But there’ll be rain to-morrow.”

“I don’t think it.  The sky’s all red at the rims.”

“The wind’s shifted.”