“I don’t _mind_ in the least,” she said. “The poor old woman has her opinions, and I mine.” Siegmund brooded a little. “I know I’m a moral coward,” he said bitterly. “Nonsense” she replied. Then, with a little heat: “But you _do_ continue to try so hard to justify yourself, as if _you_ felt you needed justification.” He laughed bitterly. “I tell you—a little thing like this—it remains tied tight round something inside me, reminding me for hours—well, what everybody else’s opinion of me is.” Helena laughed rather plaintively. “I thought you were so sure we were right,” she said. He winced again. “In myself I am. But in the eyes of the world—” “If you feel so in yourself, is not that enough?” she said brutally. He hung his head, and slowly turned his serviette-ring. “What is myself?” he asked. “Nothing very definite,” she said, with a bitter laugh. They were silent. After a while she rose, went lovingly over to him, and put her arms round his neck. “This is our last clear day, dear,” she said. A wave of love came over him, sweeping away all the rest. He took her in his arms…. “It will be hot today,” said Helena, as they prepared to go out. “I felt the sun steaming in my hair as I came up,” he replied. “I shall wear a hat—you had better do so too.” “No,” he said. “I told you I wanted a sun-soaking; now I think I shall get one.” She did not urge or compel him. In these matters he was old enough to choose for himself. This morning they were rather silent. Each felt the tarnish on their remaining day. “I think, dear,” she said, “we ought to find the little path that escaped us last night.” “We were lucky to miss it,” he answered. “You don’t get a walk like that twice in a lifetime, in spite of the old ladies.” She glanced up at him with a winsome smile, glad to hear his words. They set off, Siegmund bare-headed. He was dressed in flannels and a loose canvas shirt, but he looked what he was—a Londoner on holiday. He had the appearance, the diffident bearing, and the well-cut clothes of a gentleman. He had a slight stoop, a strong-shouldered stoop, and as he walked he looked unseeing in front of him. Helena belonged to the unclassed. She was not ladylike, nor smart, nor assertive. One could not tell whether she were of independent means or a worker. One thing was obvious about her: she was evidently educated. Rather short, of strong figure, she was much more noticeably a _concentrée_ than was Siegmund. Unless definitely looking at something she always seemed coiled within herself. She wore a white voile dress made with the waist just below her breasts, and the skirt dropping straight and clinging. On her head was a large, simple hat of burnt straw. Through the open-worked sleeves of her dress she could feel the sun bite vigorously. “I wish you had put on a hat, Siegmund,” she said. “Why?” he laughed. “My hair is like a hood,” He ruffled it back with his hand. The sunlight glistened on his forehead.