“I did not expect you,” she said, still looking at him in radiant wonder. “I could easier have expected”—she hesitated, struggled, and continued—“Eros walking by the sea. But you are like him,” she said, looking radiantly up into Siegmund’s face. “Isn’t it beautiful this morning?” she added. Siegmund endured her wide, glad look for a moment, then he stooped and kissed her. He remained moving his hand in the pool, ashamed, and full of contradiction. He was at the bitter point of farewell; could see, beyond the glamour around him, the ugly building of his real life. “Isn’t the sea wonderful this morning?” asked Helena, as she wrung the water from her costume. “It is very fine,” he answered. He refrained from saying what his heart said: “It is my last morning; it is not yours. It is my last morning, and the sea is enjoying the joke, and you are full of delight.” “Yes,” said Siegmund, “the morning is perfect.” “It is,” assented Helena warmly. “Have you noticed the waves? They are like a line of children chased by a white dog.” “Ay!” said Siegmund. “Didn’t you have a good time?” she asked, touching with her finger-tips the nape of his neck as he stooped beside her. “I swam to my little bay again,” he replied. “Did you?” she exclaimed, pleased. She sat down by the pool, in which she washed her feet free from sand, holding them to Siegmund to dry. “I am very hungry,” she said. “And I,” he agreed. “I feel quite established here,” she said gaily, something in his position having reminded her of their departure. He laughed. “It seems another eternity before the three-forty-five train, doesn’t it?” she insisted. “I wish we might never go back,” he said. Helena sighed. “It would be too much for life to give. We have had something, Siegmund,” she said. He bowed his head, and did not answer. “It has been something, dear,” she repeated. He rose and took her in his arms. “Everything,” he said, his face muffled in the shoulder of her dress. He could smell her fresh and fine from the sea. “Everything!” he said. She pressed her two hands on his head. “I did well, didn’t I, Siegmund?” she asked. Helena felt the responsibility of this holiday. She had proposed it; when he had withdrawn, she had insisted, refusing to allow him to take back his word, declaring that she should pay the cost. He permitted her at last. “Wonderfully well, Helena,” he replied. She kissed his forehead. “You are everything,” he said. She pressed his head on her bosom. XVIII Siegmund had shaved and dressed, and come down to breakfast. Mrs Curtiss brought in the coffee. She was a fragile little woman, of delicate, gentle manner. “The water would be warm this morning,” she said, addressing no one in particular.