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," a.s.sented 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 m.u.f.fled 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 She had proposed it; when he had withdrawn, she had insisted, refusing to allow him to take back his word, declaring that she should pay the cost.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.
_Chapter 18_
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.
Siegmund stood on the hearth-rug with his hands behind him, swaying from one leg to the other. He was embarra.s.sed always by the presence of the amiable little woman; he could not feel at ease before strangers, in his capacity of accepted swain of Helena.
"It was," a.s.sented Helena. "It was as warm as new milk."
"Ay, it would be," said the old lady, looking in admiration upon the experience of Siegmund and his beloved. "And did ye see the ships of war?" she asked.
"No, they had gone," replied Helena.
Siegmund swayed from foot to foot, rhythmically.
"You"ll be coming in to dinner today?" asked the old lady.
Helena arranged the matter.
"I think ye both look better," Mrs. Curtiss said. She glanced at Siegmund.
He smiled constrainedly.
"I thought ye looked so worn when you came," she said sympathetically.
"He had been working hard," said Helena, also glancing at him.
He bent his head, and was whistling without making any sound.
"Ay," sympathized the little woman. "And it"s a very short time for you.
What a pity ye can"t stop for the fireworks at Cowes on Monday. They are grand, so they say."
Helena raised her eyebrows in polite interest. "Have you never seen them?" she asked.
"No," replied Mrs. Curtiss. "I"ve never been able to get; but I hope to go yet."
"I hope you may," said Siegmund.
The little woman beamed on him. Having won a word from him, she was quite satisfied.