She went with a frank, final smile at him, that was hard to bear. If she had gone without looking at him, he could have built on that. Her whole attitude had been rather devastating to a man’s vanity. He could hardly tell himself that she had lived to regret her refusal of him. Seeing his wife there in her two-seasons-old coat, and hearing about the three children and no help! Then Wilfred grinned inwardly at his own expense. Incorrigible! Still prone to strut, drawing the rags of his egotism about him! His eyes followed Elaine. He saw her whisper to Joe, and could read her lips. “What a tiresome woman!” And Joe’s courteous acquiescence. . . . Even though Elaine and Joe might be perfectly indifferent to each other, what a beautiful picture their life made! Eighteenth century beauty. Maybe there was a sort of peace in a loveless marriage. Was love really worth all the wear and tear that it entailed? . . . By way of contrast, he and Fanny returning to their jerry-built house, and their niggling domestic cares . . . ! But no bitterness! The child was better! . . . And anyhow, he could more fully apprehend the beauty of an elegant life than its possessors. So was it not really his more than theirs? An inexpensive and a comforting doctrine . . . ! One’s own life, too. Sometimes you were able to survey it from a slight elevation. A bit of meaning emerged from the welter. Oh yes, you gained something on the distracting pilgrimage, though you might not realize it at the time. Bitterness was gone. He could be thrilled by Elaine’s splendid air, without experiencing the sting of desire. . . . He must store away this last sight of her. How well he knew the gallant carriage of her flat back, and the little half curls at the nape of her neck! He had recovered her. She was glorious again! . . . He sat down facing the cold reality of Frances Mary. He debated how best to deal with her; and while he was considering it, heard the mild words coming out of his own mouth: “Why do you act so? She is nothing to me!” “Your eyes are full of her!” said Frances Mary, darkly. Wilfred sighed, and made a feeble gesture. “She was trying to make us feel cheap!” said Frances Mary. “You are quite wrong,” he said quickly. “Not until the very end, and you forced that on her.” “You understand her of course,” she said. Wilfred experienced a sort of collapse. Of what use this endless struggle? No advance was possible. And how tired he was! Was it _his_ fault? Why did the onus invariably fall upon him? Oh, to be alone and at peace, away from the pulling of all these hands, big and little! To be at sea with men for his shipmates . . . ! “Let’s go,” said Frances Mary, bleakly. “We have just time to catch the 5:23.”