unnerved
you. You are overwrought. Lean upon me. That's what I'm for. I am
your man--your husband. Where's that come from?"

"Surrey, I should think."

I frowned at my cigarette. "I don't think you're honouring me enough,"
I said. "Of course, it's early days yet, but--good heavens! What
about the ring?"

"What about it?"

"Well, they'll see you haven't--"

I stopped, for a smile was playing about her lips as she lay back,
looking into the elm-tops. Then I caught her cool, left hand. From
the third finger a plain gold ring winked at me. I stared at it. Till
we arrived at the house, her hands had been gloved. I balanced her
hand in my palm, and looked at her.

"There is," I said, "a question."

"Yes?"

"Yes. Are you married?"

"You've been telling me I am for the last half--hour."

"Yes, but are you really?"

"Peter, dear!" This in a tone of gentle rebuke.

I ground my teeth.

"And you're going to win me bread, you know--nice brown bread."

I rose, and stood in front of her. Still the faint smile on the red
mouth.

"Look at me," I commanded.

"It wasn't an 'obey' marriage, was it?" This dreamily.

"Was that ring on that finger when we were in the train?"

Slowly she got up and faced me, her eyes six inches from mine, but
still looking away over my head, up at the high elms. Then she put her
hands on my shoulders.

"Oh, Saint Anthony," I whispered.

The smile deepened. Then:

"I'll tell you when we separate," she said.

For one dear, short half-hour we had wandered in the park. The sunshot
glades hung out an invitation it would have been churlish to refuse.
And so in and out of the tall bracken, under the spreading oaks, close
to the gentle-eyed deer, we had roamed for a while at will, carelessly,
letting the world slip. Sir Peter and his lady taking the air.

And now we were back in the gentle garden, facing the old grey house,
watching the smoke rise from a tall chimney, a slight, straight wisp
against the background of blue. And--the sun was low.

I sighed. Somehow it seemed such a pity. I glanced at my companion.
She looked rather wistful.

"Why is everything all wrong?" I said suddenly.

She smiled a little.

"Is it?"

"Of course it is. Haven't we got to slink away and leave all this? My
dear, it's all utterly wrong. The time is out of joint--dislocated."

"It isn't really, Peter."

I looked at her quickly. Her eyes were wide open now, and very br