Yes, they were at home: sitting on the verandah, a bit of rain spitting from the grey sky, and the sea gone colourless and small. Suddenly, there stood Jack. He had come round the corner on to the grass. Somers started as if an enemy were upon him. Jack looked very tall and wiry, in an old grey suit. He hesitated before coming forward, as if measuring the pair of unsuspecting turtle doves on the loggia, and on his face was a faint grin. His eyes were dark and grinning too, as he hung back there. Somers watched him quickly. Harriet looked over her shoulder. “Oh, Mr Callcott--why--how do you do?” And she got up, startled, and went across the loggia holding out her hand, to shake hands. So Jack had to come forward. Richard, very silent, shook hands also, and went indoors to fetch a chair and a cup and a plate, while Jack made his explanation to Harriet. He was quite friendly with her. “Such a long time since we saw you,” she was saying. “Why didn’t Mrs Callcott come, I should have liked so much to see her?” “Ah--you see I came over on the pony. Doesn’t look very promising weather.” And he looked away across the sea, averting his face. “No--and the _terrible_ cold winds! I’m so glad if it will rain. I simply love the smell of rain in the air: especially here in Australia. It makes the air seem so much _kinder_, not so dry and savage--” “Ah--yes--it does,” he said vaguely, still averting his face from her. He seemed strange to her. And his face looked different--as if he had been drinking, or as if he had indigestion. The two men were aloof like two strange tom-cats. “Were you disgusted with Lovat when he didn’t turn up the other Saturday?” said Harriet. “I do hope you weren’t sitting waiting for him.” “Well--er--yes, we did wait up a while for him.” “Oh, but what a shame! But you know by now he’s the most undependable creature on earth. I wish you’d be angry with him. It’s no good what _I_ say.” “No,” said he--the peculiar slow Cockney no--“I’m not angry with him.” “But you should be,” cried Harriet. “It would be good for him.” “Would it?” smiled Jack. His eyes were dark and inchoate, and there seemed a devil in his long, wiry body. He did not look at Somers. “You know of course what happened?” said Harriet. “Er--when?” “When Lovat went to see Mr Cooley.” “Er--no.” Again that peculiar Australian no, like a scorpion that stings with its tail. “Didn’t Mr Cooley tell you?” cried Harriet. “No.” There was indescribable malice in the monosyllable. “Didn’t he--!” cried Harriet, and she hesitated. “You be quiet,” said Lovat crossly, to her. “Of course _you’d_ have to rush in.” “You think angels would fear to tread in such a delicate mess?” said Harriet, with a flash of mocking wit that sent a faint smile up Jack’s face, like a red flame. His nose, his mouth were curiously reddened. He liked Harriet’s attacks. He looked at her with dark, attentive eyes. Then he turned vaguely to Somers. “What was it?” he asked.