“But don’t say anything about it in the village, Frank,” she said casually. “Don’t say who I am, or that I used to live here. There’s nobody I want to meet, particularly, and we should never feel free if they knew me again.” “Why did you come, then?” “‘Why?’ Can’t you understand why?” “Not if you don’t want to know anybody.” “I came to see the place, not the people.” He did not say any more. “Women,” she said, “are different from men. I don’t know why I wanted to come—but I did.” She helped him to another cup of coffee, solicitously. “Only,” she resumed, “don’t talk about me in the village.” She laughed shakily. “I don’t want my past brought up against me, you know.” And she moved the crumbs on the cloth with her finger-tip. He looked at her as he drank his coffee; he sucked his moustache, and putting down his cup, said phlegmatically: “I’ll bet you’ve had a lot of past.” She looked with a little guiltiness, that flattered him, down at the tablecloth. “Well,” she said, caressive, “you won’t give me away, who I am, will you?” “No,” he said, comforting, laughing, “I won’t give you away.” He was pleased. She remained silent. After a moment or two she lifted her head, saying: “I’ve got to arrange with Mrs Coates, and do various things. So you’d better go out by yourself this morning—and we’ll be in to dinner at one.” “But you can’t be arranging with Mrs Coates all morning,” he said. “Oh, well—then I’ve some letters to write, and I must get that mark out of my skirt. I’ve got plenty of little things to do this morning. You’d better go out by yourself.” He perceived that she wanted to be rid of him, so that when she went upstairs, he took his hat and lounged out on to the cliffs, suppressedly angry. Presently she too came out. She wore a hat with roses, and a long lace scarf hung over her white dress. Rather nervously, she put up her sunshade, and her face was half-hidden in its coloured shadow. She went along the narrow track of flag-stones that were worn hollow by the feet of the fishermen. She seemed to be avoiding her surroundings, as if she remained safe in the little obscurity of her parasol. She passed the church, and went down the lane till she came to a high wall by the wayside. Under this she went slowly, stopping at length by an open doorway, which shone like a picture of light in the dark wall. There in the magic beyond the doorway, patterns of shadow lay on the sunny court, on the blue and white sea-pebbles of its paving, while a green lawn glowed beyond, where a bay tree glittered at the edges. She tiptoed nervously into the courtyard, glancing at the house that stood in shadow. The uncurtained windows looked black and soulless, the kitchen door stood open. Irresolutely she took a step forward, and again forward, leaning, yearning, towards the garden beyond.