She was looking very pretty indeed, her colour heightened by the wind, her hair blowing in little golden whisps about her cheek, the light green of her dress, and the little jingle of gold bracelets, and the pearl necklace at her throat. They walked up and down the platform silently until the train came in. They never talked when they were together because there was nothing to say. When other people were there they kept it up because they had to play a game, but when they were alone it really wasn’t worth while. He wondered sometimes whether she realised that he was there at all. He would have liked to make her angry; he had tried once, but it was no good, she only smiled and stared through him as though he had been a brick wall. They got into the train and sped on that fairy-journey to Treliss. It was always the most magical thing in the world. The trains helped to add to the romance of it—strange lumbering, stumbling carriages with a ridiculous little engine that shrieked for no reason and puffed and snorted in order to increase its own importance. They often stopped suddenly while something was put right; and they would lie there, for several minutes, in the heart of the golden sand with the blue sea smiling below. He was often tempted to get out and strike across the green dunes, and so down into the heart of the little town with its red roofs and shining spires. He caught the gleam of the wet sand, and he saw the red-brown outline of the rocks as they rounded the curve. That platform was crowded, and he had some difficulty in securing a cab; but they were settled at last, and turned the corner down the cobbled street. Mrs. Maradick lay back quite exhausted. “We’d never have got that cab if I hadn’t held on to that man’s arm,” she said breathlessly. “It was positively the last, and we should have had to wait at that station hours before we got another. I call it regular bad management. It’s the most important train in the day and they ought to have had plenty of things to meet it.”