But Windebank did not follow her.  That night she sobbed herself to sleep.  The next morning, Mavis left with Harold for Southampton.

Many months later, Mavis, clad in black, stood, with Jill at her side, on the deck of a ship that was rapidly steaming up Southampton water.  Her eyes were fixed on the place where they told her she would land.  The faint blurs on the landing pier gradually assumed human shape; one on which she fixed her eyes became suspiciously like Windebank.  When she could no longer doubt that he was waiting to greet her, she went downstairs to her cabin, to pin a bright ribbon on her frock.  When he joined her on the steamer, neither of them spoke for a few moments.

“I got your letter from—­” he began.

“Don’t say anything about it,” she interrupted.  “I know you’re sorry, but I’d rather not talk of it.”

Windebank turned his attentions to Jill, to say presently to Mavis: 

“Are you staying here or going on?”

“I don’t know.  I think I’ll stay a little.  And you?”

“I’ll stay too, if you’ve no objection.”

“I should like it.”

Windebank saw to the luggage and drove Mavis to the barrack-like South-Western Hotel; then, after seeing she had all she wanted, he went to his own hotel to dress for his solitary dinner.  He had scarcely finished this meal when he was told that a lady wished to speak to him on the telephone.  She proved to be Mavis, who said: 

“If you’ve nothing better to do, come and take me out for some air.”

The next few days, they were continually together, when they would mostly ramble by the old-world fortifications of the town.  During all this time, neither of them made any mention of events in the past in which they were both concerned.

One evening, an unexpected shower of rain disappointed Windebank’s expectation of seeing Mavis after dinner.  He telephoned to her, saying that, after coming from a hot climate, she must not trust herself out in the wet.

He was cursing the weather and wondering how he would get through the evening without her, when a servant announced that a lady wished to see him.  The next moment, Mavis entered his sitting-room.  He noticed that she had changed her black frock for one of brighter hue.

“Why have you come?” he asked, when the servant had gone.

“To see you.  Don’t you want me?”

“Yes, but—­”

“Then sit down and talk; or rather don’t.  I want to think.”

“You could have done that better alone.”

“I want to think,” she repeated.

They sat for some time in silence, during which Windebank longed to take her in his arms and shower kisses on her lips.

Presently, when she got up to leave, she found so much to say that she continually put off going.  At last, when they were standing near the door, Mavis put her face provokingly near his.  He bent, meaning to kiss her hair, but instead his lips fell on hers.