The Colonel was reaching down her handbag; his cheery:  “Looks as if it would be rough!” aroused her.  Glad to be alone, and tired enough now, she sought the ladies’ cabin, and slept through the crossing, till the voice of the old stewardess awakened her:  “You’ve had a nice sleep.  We’re alongside, miss.”  Ah! if she were but that now!  She had been dreaming that she was sitting in a flowery field, and Lennan had drawn her up by the hands, with the words:  “We’re here, my darling!”

On deck, the Colonel, laden with bags, was looking back for her, and trying to keep a space between him and his wife.  He signalled with his chin.  Threading her way towards him, she happened to look up.  By the rails of the pier above she saw her husband.  He was leaning there, looking intently down; his tall broad figure made the people on each side of him seem insignificant.  The clean-shaved, square-cut face, with those almost epileptic, forceful eyes, had a stillness and intensity beside which the neighbouring faces seemed to disappear.  She saw him very clearly, even noting the touch of silver in his dark hair, on each side under his straw hat; noting that he seemed too massive for his neat blue suit.  His face relaxed; he made a little movement of one hand.  Suddenly it shot through her:  Suppose Mark had travelled with them, as he had wished to do?  For ever and ever now, that dark massive creature, smiling down at her, was her enemy; from whom she must guard and keep herself if she could; keep, at all events, each one of her real thoughts and hopes!  She could have writhed, and cried out; instead, she tightened her grip on the handle of her bag, and smiled.  Though so skilled in knowledge of his moods, she felt, in his greeting, his fierce grip of her shoulders, the smouldering of some feeling the nature of which she could not quite fathom.  His voice had a grim sincerity:  “Glad you’re back—­thought you were never coming!” Resigned to his charge, a feeling of sheer physical faintness so beset her that she could hardly reach the compartment he had reserved.  It seemed to her that, for all her foreboding, she had not till this moment had the smallest inkling of what was now before her; and at his muttered:  “Must we have the old fossils in?” she looked back to assure herself that her Uncle and Aunt were following.  To avoid having to talk, she feigned to have travelled badly, leaning back with closed eyes, in her corner.  If only she could open them and see, not this square-jawed face with its intent gaze of possession, but that other with its eager eyes humbly adoring her.  The interminable journey ended all too soon.  She clung quite desperately to the Colonel’s hand on the platform at Charing Cross.  When his kind face vanished she would be lost indeed!  Then, in the closed cab, she heard her husband’s:  “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” and submitted to his embrace.

She tried so hard to think:  What does it matter?  It’s not I, not my soul, my spirit—­only my miserable lips!