She did not have the heart to wake him in the morning. If her own racket, as she flew about preparing to leave, had no effect upon his deep unconsciousness, it would probably take too much effort anyway. At noon, however, she found him just beginning to stir about, making coffee in her little kitchen, for which he apologized, but with no sheepishness. He seemed, on the contrary, to find excessive enjoyment in having awakened in a strange place, invaded by a lovely hostess. She took the rôle of cook out of his hands. “Well,” he said when they were seated, “I suppose I am in a pickle. Must say something to Jones. Wonder what it’ll be. All’s fair, I imagine, in war and business. Any old alibi goes.” “But you’re a valuable man, Miles, you know,” she mocked, “as you said several times last night.” His smile was a trifle wan. It was too soon by all means to bid good-bye to the other side of the moon--that regular fifty a week. “You know, I’ve never had to be anywhere I didn’t want to be, in ... in God knows when,” he declared. “Not easy to get the habit. But I’m doing well down there. Honest, I’m sort of proud about it.” Moira thought that he seemed to be worrying very little about his remissness, not even very actively at work on the problem of finding an excuse. And it was late, even for that. She almost hated to undeceive him, it concerned him so slightly. Finally she said: “I telephoned your Jones. I told him you were too ill to come down. Was that right?” But obviously this service was in his eyes incalculably great. The look he gave her made her want to laugh. She had not thought it possible for a man to be so pathetically helpless, so profoundly grateful for an act of friendly foresight. “How did it happen, Miles?” “Oh, I think the monotony got on my nerves. Then yesterday everything went wrong; and I thought five o’clock would never come. Eight hours! By Jove, it sometimes seems like eight years.” “Yes, it does,” she replied, remembering her first months of it. “Do you get used to it?” he asked anxiously. “Oh, yes, it comes to be a good deal like breathing.” XVIII They started out without objective, left the train at a little station far down the southern part of Long Island and walked miles through a flat country of stunted woods and sandy, almost deserted roads.