He was introduced again, and then Janey and the stewardess disappeared into the passage. He heard whisperings. She was getting the tipping business over, he supposed. He sat down on the striped sofa and took his hat off. There were the rugs she had taken with her; they looked good as new. All her luggage looked fresh, perfect. The labels were written in her beautiful little clear hand—“Mrs. John Hammond.” “Mrs. John Hammond!” He gave a long sigh of content and leaned back, crossing his arms. The strain was over. He felt he could have sat there for ever sighing his relief—the relief at being rid of that horrible tug, pull, grip on his heart. The danger was over. That was the feeling. They were on dry land again. But at that moment Janey’s head came round the corner. “Darling—do you mind? I just want to go and say good-bye to the doctor.” Hammond started up. “I’ll come with you.” “No, no!” she said. “Don’t bother. I’d rather not. I’ll not be a minute.” And before he could answer she was gone. He had half a mind to run after her; but instead he sat down again. Would she really not be long? What was the time now? Out came the watch; he stared at nothing. That was rather queer of Janey, wasn’t it? Why couldn’t she have told the stewardess to say good-bye for her? Why did she have to go chasing after the ship’s doctor? She could have sent a note from the hotel even if the affair had been urgent. Urgent? Did it—could it mean that she had been ill on the voyage—she was keeping something from him? That was it! He seized his hat. He was going off to find that fellow and to wring the truth out of him at all costs. He thought he’d noticed just something. She was just a touch too calm—too steady. From the very first moment— The curtains rang. Janey was back. He jumped to his feet. “Janey, have you been ill on this voyage? You have!” “Ill?” Her airy little voice mocked him. She stepped over the rugs, and came up close, touched his breast, and looked up at him. “Darling,” she said, “don’t frighten me. Of course I haven’t! Whatever makes you think I have? Do I look ill?” But Hammond didn’t see her. He only felt that she was looking at him and that there was no need to worry about anything. She was here to look after things. It was all right. Everything was. The gentle pressure of her hand was so calming that he put his over hers to hold it there. And she said: “Stand still. I want to look at you. I haven’t seen you yet. You’ve had your beard beautifully trimmed, and you look—younger, I think, and decidedly thinner! Bachelor life agrees with you.” “Agrees with me!” He groaned for love and caught her close again. And again, as always, he had the feeling that he was holding something that never was quite his—his. Something too delicate, too precious, that would fly away once he let go. “For God’s sake let’s get off to the hotel so that we can be by ourselves!” And he rang the bell hard for some one to look sharp with the luggage.