Chapter: <CHAPTER>
12. THE STRANGER

It seemed to the little crowd on the wharf that she was never going
to move again. There she lay, immense, motionless on the grey crinkled
water, a loop of smoke above her, an immense flock of gulls screaming
and diving after the galley droppings at the stern. You could just see
little couples parading--little flies walking up and down the dish on
the grey crinkled tablecloth. Other flies clustered and swarmed at the
edge. Now there was a gleam of white on the lower deck--the cook's apron
or the stewardess perhaps. Now a tiny black spider raced up the ladder
on to the bridge.

In the front of the crowd a strong-looking, middle-aged man, dressed
very well, very snugly in a grey overcoat, grey silk scarf, thick gloves
and dark felt hat, marched up and down, twirling his folded umbrella. He
seemed to be the leader of the little crowd on the wharf and at the same
time to keep them together. He was something between the sheep-dog and
the shepherd.

But what a fool--what a fool he had been not to bring any glasses! There
wasn't a pair of glasses between the whole lot of them.

"Curious thing, Mr. Scott, that none of us thought of glasses. We might
have been able to stir 'em up a bit. We might have managed a little
signalling. 'Don't hesitate to land. Natives harmless.' Or: 'A welcome
awaits you. All is forgiven.' What? Eh?"

Mr. Hammond's quick, eager glance, so nervous and yet so friendly and
confiding, took in everybody on the wharf, roped in even those old chaps
lounging against the gangways. They knew, every man-jack of them, that
Mrs. Hammond was on that boat, and that he was so tremendously excited
it never entered his head not to believe that this marvellous fact meant
something to them too. It warmed his heart towards them. They were,
he decided, as decent a crowd of people--Those old chaps over by the
gangways, too--fine, solid old chaps. What chests--by Jove! And he
squared his own, plunged his thick-gloved hands into his pockets, rocked
from heel to toe.

"Yes, my wife's been in Europe for the last ten months. On a visit to
our eldest girl, who was married last year. I brought her up here, as
far as Salisbury, myself. So I thought I'd better come and fetch her
back. Yes, yes, yes." The shrewd grey eyes narrowed again and searched
anxiously, quickly, the motionless liner. Again his overcoat was
unbuttoned. Out came the thin, butter-yellow watch again, and for the
twentieth--fiftieth--hundredth time he made the calculation.

"Let me see now. It was two fifteen when the doctor's launch went off.
Two fifteen. It is now exactly twenty-eight minutes past four. That is
to say, the doctor's been gone two hours and thirteen minutes. Two hours
and thirteen minutes! Whee-ooh!" He gave a queer little half-whistle
and snapped his watch to again. "But I think we should have been told if
there was anything up--don't you, Mr. Gaven?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Hammond! I don't think there's anything to--anything to
worry about," said Mr. Gaven, knocking out his pipe against the heel of
his shoe. "At the same time--"

"Quite so! Quite so!" cried Mr. Hammond. "Dashed annoying!" He paced
quickly up and down and came back again to his stand between Mr. and
Mrs. Scott and Mr. Gaven. "It's getting quite dark, too," and he waved
his folded umbrella as though the dusk at least might have had the
decency to keep off for a bit. But the dusk came slowly, spreading like
a slow stain over the water. Little Jean Scott dragged at her mother's
hand.

"I wan' my tea, mammy!" she wailed.

"I expect you do," said Mr. Hammond. "I expect all these ladies want
their tea." And his kind, flushed, almost pitiful glance roped them all
in again. He wondered whether Janey was having a final cup of tea in the
saloon out there. He hoped so; he thought not. It would be just like her
not to leave the deck. In that case perhaps the deck steward would bring
her up a cup. If he'd been there he'd have got it for her--somehow. And
for a moment he was on deck, standing over her, watching her little hand
fold round the cup in the way she had, while she drank the only cup of
tea to be got on board... But now he was back here, and the Lord only
knew when that cursed Captain would stop hanging about in the stream.
He took another turn, up and down, up and down. He walked as far as the
cab-stand to make sure his driver hadn't disappeared; back he swerved
again to the little flock huddled in the shelter of the banana crates.
Little Jean Scott was still wanting her tea. Poor little beggar! He
wished he had a bit of chocolate on him.

"Here, Jean!" he said. "Like a lift up?" And easily, gently, he swung
the little girl on to a higher barrel. The movement of holding her,
steadying her, relieved him wonderfully, lightened his heart.

"Hold on," he said, keeping an arm round her.

"Oh, don't worry about Jean, Mr. Hammond!" said Mrs. Scott.

"That's all right, Mrs. Scott. No trouble. It's a pleasure. Jean's a
little pal of mine, aren't you, Jean?"

"Yes, Mr. Hammond," said Jean, and she ran her finger down the dent of
his felt hat.

But suddenly she caught him by the ear and gave a loud scream. "Lo-ok,
Mr. Hammond! She's moving! Look, she's coming in!"

By Jove! So she was. At last! She was slowly, slowly turning round. A
bell sounded far over the water and a great spout of steam gushed into
the air. The gulls rose; they fluttered away like bits of white paper.
And whether that deep throbbing was her engines or his heart Mr. Hammond
couldn't say. He had to nerve himself to bear it, whatever it was. At
that moment old Captain Johnson, the harbour-master, came striding down
the wharf, a leather portfolio under his arm.

"Jean'll be all right," said Mr. Scott. "I'll hold her." He was just in
time. Mr. Hammond had forgotten about Jean. He sprang away to greet old
Captain Johnson.

"Well, Captain," the eager, nervous voice rang out again, "you've taken
pity on us at last."

"It's no good blaming me, Mr. Hammond," wheezed old Captain Johnson,
staring at the liner. "You got Mrs. Hammond on board, ain't yer?"

"Yes, yes!" said Hammond, and he kept by the harbour-master's side.
"Mrs. Hammond's there. Hul-lo! We shan't be long now!"

With her telephone ring-ringing, the thrum of her screw filling the air,
the big liner bore down on them, cutting sharp through the dark water
so that big white shavings curled to either side. Hammond and the
harbour-master kept in front of the rest. Hammond took off his hat; he
raked the decks--they were crammed with passengers; he waved his hat and
bawled a loud, strange "Hul-lo!" across the water; and then turned
round and burst out laughing and said something--nothing--to old Captain
Johnson.

"Seen her?" asked the harbour-master.

"No, not yet. Steady--wait a bit!" And suddenly, between two great
clumsy idiots--"Get out of the way there!" he signed with his
umbrella--he saw a hand raised--a white glove shaking a handkerchief.
Another moment, and--thank God, thank God!--there she was. There was
Janey. There was Mrs. Hammond, yes, yes, yes--standing by the rail and
smiling and nodding and waving her handkerchief.

"Well that's first class--first class! Well, well, well!" He positively
stamped. Like lightning he drew out his cigar-case and offered it to
old Captain Johnson. "Have a cigar, Captain! They're pretty good. Have
a couple! Here"--and he pressed all the cigars in the case on the
harbour-master--"I've a couple of boxes up at the hotel."

"Thenks, Mr. Hammond!" wheezed old Captain Johnson.

Hammond stuffed the cigar-case back. His hands were shaking, but he'd
got hold of himself again. He was able to face Janey. There she was,
leaning on the rail, talking to some woman and at the same time watching
him, ready for him. It struck him, as the gulf of water closed, how
small she looked on that huge ship. His heart was wrung with such a
spasm that he could have cried out. How little she looked to have come
all that long way and back by herself! Just like her, though. Just like
Janey. She had the courage of a--And now the crew had come forward and
parted the passengers; they had lowered the rails for the gangways.

The voices on shore and the voices on board flew to greet each other.

"All well?"

"All well."

"How's mother?"

"Much better."

"Hullo, Jean!"

"Hillo, Aun' Emily!"

"Had a good voyage?"

"Splendid!"

"Shan't be long now!"

"Not long now."

The engines stopped. Slowly she edged to the wharf-side.

"Make way there--make way--make way!" And the wharf hands brought the
heavy gangways along at a sweeping run. Hammond signed to Janey to stay
where she was. The old harbour-master stepped forward; he followed. As
to "ladies first," or any rot like that, it never entered his head.

"After you, Captain!" he cried genially. And, treading on the old man's
heels, he strode up the gangway on to the deck in a bee-line to Janey,
and Janey was clasped in his arms.

"Well, well, well! Yes, yes! Here we are at last!" he stammered. It was
all he could say. And Janey emerged, and her cool little voice--the only
voice in the world for him--said,

"Well, darling! Have you been waiting long?"

No; not long. Or, at any rate, it didn't matter. It was over now. But
the point was, he had a cab waiting at the end of the wharf. Was she
ready to go off. Was her luggage ready? In that case they could cut off
sharp with her cabin luggage and let the rest go hang until to-morrow.
He bent over her and she looked up with her familiar half-smile. She
was just the same. Not a day changed. Just as he'd always known her. She
laid her small hand on his sleeve.

"How are the children, John?" she asked.

(Hang the children!) "Perfectly well. Never better in their lives."

"Haven't they sent me letters?"

"Yes, yes--of course! I've left them at the hotel for you to digest
later on."

"We can't go quite so fast," said she. "I've got people to say good-bye
to--and then there's the Captain." As his face fell she gave his arm a
small understanding squeeze. "If the Captain comes off the bridge I
want you to thank him for having looked after your wife so beautifully."
Well, he'd got her. If she wanted another ten minutes--As he gave way
she was surrounded. The whole first-class seemed to want to say good-bye
to Janey.

"Good-bye, dear Mrs. Hammond! And next time you're in Sydney I'll expect
you."

"Darling Mrs. Hammond! You won't forget to write to me, will you?"

"Well, Mrs. Hammond, what this boat would have been without you!"

It was as plain as a pikestaff that she was by far the most popular
woman on board. And she took it all--just as usual. Absolutely composed.
Just her little self--just Janey all over; standing there with her veil
thrown back. Hammond never noticed what his wife had on. It was all the
same to him whatever she wore. But to-day he did notice that she wore a
black "costume"--didn't they call it?--with white frills, trimmings he
supposed they were, at the neck and sleeves. All this while Janey handed
him round.

"John, dear!" And then: "I want to introduce you to--"

Finally they did escape, and she led the way to her state-room. To
follow Janey down the passage that she knew so well--that was so strange
to him; to part the green curtains after her and to step into the cabin
that had been hers gave him exquisite happiness. But--confound it!--the
stewardess was there on the floor, strapping up the rugs.

"That's the last, Mrs. Hammond," said the stewardess, rising and pulling
down her cuffs.

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.

*****

Walking down the wharf together she took his arm. He had her on his arm
again. And the difference it made to get into the cab after Janey--to
throw the red-and-yellow striped blanket round them both--to tell the
driver to hurry because neither of them had had any tea. No more going
without his tea or pouring out his own. She was back. He turned to her,
squeezed her hand, and said gently, teasingly, in the "special" voice
he had for her: "Glad to be home again, dearie?" She smiled; she didn't
even bother to answer, but gently she drew his hand away as they came to
the brighter streets.

"We've got the best room in the hotel," he said. "I wouldn't be put off
with another. And I asked the chambermaid to put in a bit of a fire in
case you felt chilly. She's a nice, attentive girl. And I thought now
we were here we wouldn't bother to go home to-morrow, but spend the day
looking round and leave the morning after. Does that suit you? There's
no hurry, is there? The children will have you soon enough... I thought a
day's sight-seeing might make a nice break in your journey--eh, Janey?"

"Have you taken the tickets for the day after?" she asked.

"I should think I have!" He unbuttoned his overcoat and took out his
bulging pocket-book. "Here we are! I reserved a first-class carriage to
Cooktown. There it is--'Mr. and Mrs. John Hammond.' I thought we might
as well do ourselves comfortably, and we don't want other people butting
in, do we? But if you'd like to stop here a bit longer--?"

"Oh, no!" said Janey quickly. "Not for the world! The day after
to-morrow, then. And the children--"

But they had reached the hotel. The manager was standing in the broad,
brilliantly-lighted porch. He came down to greet them. A porter ran from
the hall for their boxes.

"Well, Mr. Arnold, here's Mrs. Hammond at last!"

The manager led them through the hall himself and pressed the
elevator-bell. Hammond knew there were business pals of his sitting at
the little hall tables having a drink before dinner. But he wasn't going
to risk interruption; he looked neither to the right nor the left. They
could think what they pleased. If they didn't understand, the more fools
they--and he stepped out of the lift, unlocked the door of their room,
and shepherded Janey in. The door shut. Now, at last, they were alone
together. He turned up the light. The curtains were drawn; the fire
blazed. He flung his hat on to the huge bed and went towards her.

But--would you believe it!--again they were interrupted. This time it
was the porter with the luggage. He made two journeys of it, leaving the
door open in between, taking his time, whistling through his teeth
in the corridor. Hammond paced up and down the room, tearing off his
gloves, tearing off his scarf. Finally he flung his overcoat on to the
bedside.

At last the fool was gone. The door clicked. Now they were alone. Said
Hammond: "I feel I'll never have you to myself again. These cursed
people! Janey"--and he bent his flushed, eager gaze upon her--"let's
have dinner up here. If we go down to the restaurant we'll be
interrupted, and then there's the confounded music" (the music he'd
praised so highly, applauded so loudly last night!). "We shan't be able
to hear each other speak. Let's have something up here in front of the
fire. It's too late for tea. I'll order a little supper, shall I? How
does that idea strike you?"

"Do, darling!" said Janey. "And while you're away--the children's
letters--"

"Oh, later on will do!" said Hammond.

"But then we'd get it over," said Janey. "And I'd first have time to--"

"Oh, I needn't go down!" explained Hammond. "I'll just ring and give the
order... you don't want to send me away, do you?"

Janey shook her head and smiled.

"But you're thinking of something else. You're worrying about
something," said Hammond. "What is it? Come and sit here--come and sit
on my knee before the fire."

"I'll just unpin my hat," said Janey, and she went over to the
dressing-table. "A-ah!" She gave a little cry.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, darling. I've just found the children's letters. That's all
right! They will keep. No hurry now!" She turned to him, clasping them.
She tucked them into her frilled blouse. She cried quickly, gaily: "Oh,
how typical this dressing-table is of you!"

"Why? What's the matter with it?" said Hammond.

"If it were floating in eternity I should say 'John!'" laughed
Janey, staring at the big bottle of hair tonic, the wicker bottle of
eau-de-Cologne, the two hair-brushes, and a dozen new collars tied with
pink tape. "Is this all your luggage?"

"Hang my luggage!" said Hammond; but all the same he liked being laughed
at by Janey. "Let's talk. Let's get down to things. Tell me"--and as
Janey perched on his knees he leaned back and drew her into the deep,
ugly chair--"tell me you're really glad to be back, Janey."

"Yes, darling, I am glad," she said.

But just as when he embraced her he felt she would fly away, so Hammond
never knew--never knew for dead certain that she was as glad as he
was. How could he know? Would he ever know? Would he always have this
craving--this pang like hunger, somehow, to make Janey so much part
of him that there wasn't any of her to escape? He wanted to blot out
everybody, everything. He wished now he'd turned off the light. That
might have brought her nearer. And now those letters from the children
rustled in her blouse. He could have chucked them into the fire.

"Janey," he whispered.

"Yes, dear?" She lay on his breast, but so lightly, so remotely. Their
breathing rose and fell together.

"Janey!"

"What is it?"

"Turn to me," he whispered. A slow, deep flush flowed into his forehead.
"Kiss me, Janey! You kiss me!"

It seemed to him there was a tiny pause--but long enough for him to
suffer torture--before her lips touched his, firmly, lightly--kissing
them as she always kissed him, as though the kiss--how could he describe
it?--confirmed what they were saying, signed the contract. But that
wasn't what he wanted; that wasn't at all what he thirsted for. He felt
suddenly, horrible tired.

"If you knew," he said, opening his eyes, "what it's been like--waiting
to-day. I thought the boat never would come in. There we were, hanging
about. What kept you so long?"

She made no answer. She was looking away from him at the fire. The
flames hurried--hurried over the coals, flickered, fell.

"Not asleep, are you?" said Hammond, and he jumped her up and down.

"No," she said. And then: "Don't do that, dear. No, I was thinking. As
a matter of fact," she said, "one of the passengers died last night--a
man. That's what held us up. We brought him in--I mean, he wasn't buried
at sea. So, of course, the ship's doctor and the shore doctor--"

"What was it?" asked Hammond uneasily. He hated to hear of death. He
hated this to have happened. It was, in some queer way, as though he and
Janey had met a funeral on their way to the hotel.

"Oh, it wasn't anything in the least infectious!" said Janey. She was
speaking scarcely above her breath. "It was heart." A pause. "Poor
fellow!" she said. "Quite young." And she watched the fire flicker and
fall. "He died in my arms," said Janey.

The blow was so sudden that Hammond thought he would faint. He couldn't
move; he couldn't breathe. He felt all his strength flowing--flowing
into the big dark chair, and the big dark chair held him fast, gripped
him, forced him to bear it.

"What?" he said dully. "What's that you say?"

"The end was quite peaceful," said the small voice. "He just"--and
Hammond saw her lift her gentle hand--"breathed his life away at the
end." And her hand fell.

"Who--else was there?" Hammond managed to ask.

"Nobody. I was alone with him."

Ah, my God, what was she saying! What was she doing to him! This would
kill him! And all the while she spoke:

"I saw the change coming and I sent the steward for the doctor, but the
doctor was too late. He couldn't have done anything, anyway."

"But--why you, why you?" moaned Hammond.

At that Janey turned quickly, quickly searched his face.

"You don't mind, John, do you?" she asked. "You don't--It's nothing to
do with you and me."

Somehow or other he managed to shake some sort of smile at her. Somehow
or other he stammered: "No--go--on, go on! I want you to tell me."

"But, John darling--"

"Tell me, Janey!"

"There's nothing to tell," she said, wondering. "He was one of
the first-class passengers. I saw he was very ill when he came on
board... But he seemed to be so much better until yesterday. He had a
severe attack in the afternoon--excitement--nervousness, I think, about
arriving. And after that he never recovered."

"But why didn't the stewardess--"

"Oh, my dear--the stewardess!" said Janey. "What would he have felt? And
besides... he might have wanted to leave a message... to--"

"Didn't he?" muttered Hammond. "Didn't he say anything?"

"No, darling, not a word!" She shook her head softly. "All the time I
was with him he was too weak... he was too weak even to move a finger... "

Janey was silent. But her words, so light, so soft, so chill, seemed to
hover in the air, to rain into his breast like snow.

The fire had gone red. Now it fell in with a sharp sound and the
room was colder. Cold crept up his arms. The room was huge, immense,
glittering. It filled his whole world. There was the great blind bed,
with his coat flung across it like some headless man saying his prayers.
There was the luggage, ready to be carried away again, anywhere, tossed
into trains, carted on to boats.

... "He was too weak. He was too weak to move a finger." And yet he died
in Janey's arms. She--who'd never--never once in all these years--never
on one single solitary occasion--

No; he mustn't think of it. Madness lay in thinking of it. No, he
wouldn't face it. He couldn't stand it. It was too much to bear!

And now Janey touched his tie with her fingers. She pinched the edges of
the tie together.

"You're not--sorry I told you, John darling? It hasn't made you sad? It
hasn't spoilt our evening--our being alone together?"

But at that he had to hide his face. He put his face into her bosom and
his arms enfolded her.

Spoilt their evening! Spoilt their being alone together! They would
never be alone together again.




</CHAPTER>

 The crowd on the wharf anxiously watches the motionless ship across the water. No one was more anxious than Mr. John Hammond whose wife, Janey, was aboard the ship. Checking his watch, pacing, engaging all those gathered in conversation, Mr. Hammond kept everyone in high spirits, more or less, while scanning the deck of the ship for signs of his wife. In appearance Mr. Hammond was a handsome, middle-aged man, dressed well in a fitted gray overcoat, obviously rich. He had a habit of twirling his folded umbrella and once the dusk began to settle in he thrust his umbrella outward as if to ward off the night. The small crowd had been waiting over two hours for the ship to come into port. A doctor had rowed out when the ship arrived but had not yet returned. Something was obviously wrong and Mr. Hammond tried not to imagine the worst. Janey had been away for ten months, visiting their eldest daughter in Europe who had married the year before. A little girl nearby cried to her mother that she wanted tea. Mr. Hammond anxiously imagined his Janey doing without tea onboard the ship. He knew she was probably on deck now, waiting just as he was, for the ship to come in. He imagined there was no one to fetch Janey her tea and envisioned himself doing it, watching her little hand hold the cup in the special way that she had. Frustrated by the whole situation, Mr. Hammond walked to where his driver waited with the car, paced some more, and then playfully lifted the little girl who wanted tea onto a barrel. The little girl cried out that the ship was coming in. Mr. Hammond, in his excitement, abandoned the little girl and made his way over to Captain Johnson. The captain had come to shore on a separate boat. Captain Johnson dutifully reported that Mrs. Janey Hammond was well and on board the ship. Mr. Hammond was ecstatic and thanked the captain for his service and gave him a handful of his own good cigars. Mr. Hammond made his way to the front of the crowd and waving enthusiastically with his hat, he searched the deck for Janey. He did not see her but then caught sight of a white handkerchief. Brandishing his umbrella he a cut a path to the ship and saw it was Janey and she was waving her handkerchief at him. "...thank God, thank God! -there she was. There was Janey. There was Mrs. Hammond, yes, yes, yes" shouted his inner monologue. After the gangway was in place Mr. Hammond rushed forward and only out of gentility allowed the captain to board first. Mr. Hammond made a beeline for Janey and she was in his arms at last. In her little voice, "the only voice in the world for him" she asked if he had been waiting long and he said he had not and wanted to get off the ship as quickly as possible so they could go back to the hotel. Janey had other plans. She spent a good amount of time saying goodbye to all of the friends she had made on the journey. Mr. Hammond was proud to make note of his wife's popularity. Then they went below deck to Janey's rooms. Here Mr. Hammond was filled with delight at the sight of the place that had been his wife's home during her passage. He saw her luggage and the tags labeled "Mrs. John Hammond" and it gave him such a thrill. He wanted nothing more than to be alone with Janey. Unfortunately, Janey wanted to speak with the doctor and rushed out to do so, leaving Mr. Hammond behind. Immediately growing suspicious, Mr. Hammond thought Janey had been ill and was keeping bad news from him. Janey returned and after he accused her being ill, she placed her small hand on his large chest and in a quiet voice reassured him that she was fine. Mr. Hammond sighed in relief. Janey was back, she would take care of everything, as she had always done. All was right with his world again. Mr. Hammond embraced his wife. His love for her was so great but as usual, he felt as if he were holding something that was not his, and that she could fly away at any moment. Wanting to be alone with Janey at the hotel he rang for the luggage and they disembarked. Soon they were in the car and driving. He lovingly placed a blanket over them both and said he had made all of the travel arrangements and they were to leave the next day. Janey asked after the children several times about Mr. Hammond was not to be distracted. He held her hand and watched her and did not notice when she gently took her hand away. In their hotel room, Mr. Hammond had arranged for a fire to be lit in case Janey was chilled from the journey. He tried to take her in his arms again, but letters from their children distracted her. She suggested she read them now and get it out of the way but Mr. Hammond was anxious to have her all to himself. Janey asked if he would go downstairs and get room service so they might have tea but again Mr. Hammond was not to be distracted and jokingly accused his wife of wanting to send him away. To this remark Janey only shook her head and smiled. Mr. Hammond took her and placed her on his knee, he sat back in a chair and held her, lovingly but as always, he felt as if she were always on the brink of flying away. He asked that she kiss him and she did but something was wrong. She laid her head against his broad chest and they sat there a moment in silence. Mr. Hammond asked her if she were tired, if everything were all right. Janey did not answer and so he bounced his leg up and down and she told him to stop and said that a man had died on the ship the day before. Janey said the reason the ship was so late coming into port was because it took so long for the doctor to determine what happened to the man. Her voice fell and she said the man was young and had died of heart complications. Janey's hand fell away from her husband's chest and she said that the young man had died in her arms and they had been alone together. Mr. Hammond began to panic. "Ah my God, what was she saying! What was she doing to him? This would kill him!" Janey said the man died very peacefully and there was nothing a doctor could have done to save him. They had met aboard the ship, he was a first class passenger and had been ill for sometime but he had seemed so much better until today. He had some sort of attack before the ship arrived, nervousness perhaps or excitement. He had not recovered and was too weak at the end to even lift a finger. "You don't mind, John, do you? You don't- It's nothing to do with you and me" but Mr. Hammond did mind but he could not bring himself to say it. He thought madness lay in thinking about what she said, not only the implications of his wife being alone with another man but of the man being too weak to move and yet he died in her arms. She had never in all of the years of their marriage reached out to him first. He was the one... but he stopped himself. Janey played with his tie and said that she hoped that her confession would not get in the way of their evening of being alone together. Mr. Hammond hugged her closely in order to hide his face and thought they would never be alone together again.

