"Peter," whispered Stuart, when they were alone; "haven't you yet discovered the secret of the Broads?"
She was an instant silent, as if listening for a reply to his question. Then it flashed across her in the phrase of his letter.
"That's it--we travel light. All luggage too heavy for the rack, to be thrown on to the rails."
He said, "No, of course not. Damn symbolism!... I'm speaking of Aureole and Oliver."
The latter emerged from the bungalow, and called out something about 'London.' Stuart walked quickly to meet him:
"Look here, old man, she may lie low for a week or two, but believe me, there's no earthly reason for you to get feverish about it." And then the notion of Strachey being feverish struck him as inexpressibly comic.
"I'm not. But I'm catching the eight-forty-one to town. She has probably gone home. I don't care to think of her messing about with revolvers, even to impress me."
The pistol idea had established itself firmly; Stuart saw that it was hopeless to attempt removing it before the eight-forty-one started.
"Good-bye." Oliver had evidently forgotten about Peter.
"Good luck!" and Stuart returned to the boat.
"I like Nigger Strachey," Peter decided, squatting on the rail of the 'Faustina.' "Stuart, how far are you concerned in this affair?"
He defended himself hotly, immensely fortified and upheld by the moral consciousness of being in the wrong.
"Fancy accusing me of being directly responsible for the whim of a neurotic woman."
"I don't. Now tell me how you are indirectly responsible--oh, it's no good, my lad! That rigmarole of ducks and pistols gave you away--to me, at least."
"It wasn't my usual style, I admit," laughed Stuart. And owned to the morning's conversation with Aureole, when he had spurred rebellion into action. "It won't do either of 'em any harm, you know; prevent 'em from getting sluggish. Any sort of stir to matrimony;--why," with fierce indignation, "they might even have come to think themselves happy, if I hadn't shown them they weren't."
"Philanthropist," softly from the girl beside him in the dimness.
"All the same, I wonder where she can have gone, and what she has done; plenty of spirit there, and character too, if only she weren't such a wild--goose!"