be on the broad stream of Life once more. The
current is very strong sometimes. But here there is no current, nor
any time, nor action. Only the sun makes shining patches on the water,
while now and again dragon-flies dart through the sleepy hum of insect
life, like bright thoughts flashing across a reverie. Now, isn't that
nice? I really don't know how I do it. But to resume. No one knew of
our turning aside--no one will see us return. For us the universe is
standing still. And there's the tea. Come, madam wife, sit by my
side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er be younger."

She looked at me critically, bending her brows. Then:

"I should never have married you," she said, "if I had known there was
insanity in your family."

Tea was set out under the trees on the lawn, between the house and the
drive. On three sides roses and honey-suckle screened the table from
view. The fourth lay open to the sinking sun and the park and the
distant hills. The footman had been joined by a butler, who bowed at
our approach. In silence she poured out the tea. Then:

"Sugar?" she said, without thinking.

"Ahem! Not to--day, thanks, dear. I had mine in the champagne."

"As the footman handed me the cucumber sandwiches, his hand shook a
little. I went on ruthlessly:

"Talking of which, did you notice the detectives?"

"No," she said. "What about them?"

"Wall--eyed, my dear, all of them. Cost me two-and-six extra, but I
thought it was worth it. Worries the thieves awfully, you know. They
can't tell whether they're watching the fish-slice or the 'Longfellow'.
And all the time they're really counting the marron glaces. It's
called 'getting the wall--eye.'"

I stooped to straighten my spat. When I looked up, the servants had
disappeared. I glanced through the leaves to see them pass into the
dining--room.

"Gone?" said the girl. I nodded.

"Thank goodness! And now, who are you? I believe one is supposed to
get to know one's husband on the honeymoon."

I took one of the letters the footman had given me out of my pocket.

"I am," said I, "Sir Peter Tagel. That's why you're 'my lady'.

"Is it really? And now, your alias?"

"I'll tell you when we separate. Meanwhile, I do hope I shall make you
happy. When the time comes I shall win you bread. To do this I shall,
of course, have to leave your side. But that's for after. Till
then--but I fear my thoughtless reference to our parting has