The train drew up at last. She did not know where George lodged, and would have to go to his hospital. She planned to get there at half past nine, and having eaten a sort of breakfast at the station, went forth into the town. The seaside was still wrapped in the early glamour which haunts chalk of a bright morning. But the streets were very much alive. Here was real business of the war. She passed houses which had been wrecked. Trucks clanged and shunted, great lorries rumbled smoothly by. Sea—and Air-planes were moving like great birds far up in the bright haze, and khaki was everywhere. But it was the sea Noel wanted. She made her way westward to a little beach; and, sitting down on a stone, opened her arms to catch the sun on her face and chest. The tide was nearly up, with the wavelets of a blue bright sea. The great fact, the greatest fact in the world, except the sun; vast and free, making everything human seem small and transitory! It did her good, like a tranquillising friend. The sea might be cruel and terrible, awful things it could do, and awful things were being done on it; but its wide level line, its never-ending song, its sane savour, were the best medicine she could possibly have taken. She rubbed the Shelly sand between her fingers in absurd ecstasy; took off her shoes and stockings, paddled, and sat drying her legs in the sun. When she left the little beach, she felt as if someone had said to her: 'Your troubles are very little. There's the sun, the sea, the air; enjoy them. They can't take those from you.' At the hospital she had to wait half an hour in a little bare room before George came. “Nollie! Splendid. I've got an hour. Let's get out of this cemetery. We'll have time for a good stretch on the tops. Jolly of you to have come to me. Tell us all about it.” When she had finished, he squeezed her arm. 348 “I knew it wouldn't do. Your Dad forgot that he's a public figure, and must expect to be damned accordingly. But though you've cut and run, he'll resign all the same, Nollie.” “Oh, no!” cried Noel. George shook his head. “Yes, he'll resign, you'll see, he's got no worldly sense; not a grain.” “Then I shall have spoiled his life, just as if—oh, no!” “Let's sit down here. I must be back at eleven.” They sat down on a bench, where the green cliff stretched out before them, over a sea quite clear of haze, far down and very blue. “Why should he resign,” cried Noel again, “now that I've gone? He'll be lost without it all.” George smiled. “Found, my dear. He'll be where he ought to be, Nollie, where the Church is, and the Churchmen are not—in the air!” “Don't!” cried Noel passionately.