They closed the door behind them and passed down a little path to the seashore. Here wonders met them. The sand, wet with the recent storm catching all the colours of the sky shone with mother of pearl--here a pool of blue, there the fleet of golden clouds. It stretched on every side of them, blazing with colour. Behind them the common, sinking now into the dull light of evening. They stood, little pigmies, on that vast painted floor. Before them the breeze, blowing back the waves into the sun again turned the spray to gold. Tiny figures, in all this glory, they embraced. In all the world they seemed the only living thing.... III They had their witness. The old woman who lived in the heart of those black trees, was deaf and dumb indeed, but her eyes were alive in her fading and wrinkled body. When the door had closed she rose slowly from her chair, and her face was wrinkled with the passion of the hatred that her old soul was feeling. What did they mean, those two, coming there and haunting her with their youth and strength and love. Kissing there before her as though she were already dead--she to whom kisses were only bitter memories. Her face worked with fury--she hobbled, painfully, to the door and opened it. Below her, on a floor of gold, two black figures stood together. Gazing at them she raised her thin and trembling hand; she flung with a passionate, furious gesture, something from her. A small silver coin glittered in the air, whistled for a moment and fell. CHAPTER IV THE ROUNDABOUT I Mrs. Rossiter and Mrs. Galleon sat solemnly, with the majesty of spreading skirts and Sunday Best hats, in the little drawing-room of The Roundabout, awaiting the return from the honeymoon. The Roundabout is the name that Peter has given to the little house in Dorset Street, Chelsea, that he has chosen to live in with his bride. High spirits lead to nicknames and Peter was in the very highest of spirits when he took the house. The name alluded both to the shape--round bow-windowed like--fat bulging little walls, lemon-coloured, and to the kind of life that Peter intended to lead. All was to be Happiness. Life is challenged with all the high spirits of a truly happy ceremony. It is indeed a tiny house--tiny hall, tiny stairs, tiny rooms but quaint with a little tumble-down orchard behind it and that strange painted house that old mad Miss Anderson lives in on the other side of the orchard. Such a quiet little street too ... a line of the gravest trees, cobbles with only the most occasional cart and a little church with a sleepy bell at the farthest end ... all was to be Happiness.