by falling really and truly in love with Gilbert. As it was, she
recognized his attraction and in the few serious moments that forced
themselves upon her when she was alone she realized that he could give
her everything that would make life easy and pleasant. She liked his
calm sophistication, she was impressed, being young, by his utter
disregard of laws and conventions, and she was flattered at the
unmistakable proofs of his passionate devotion. But she would have been
surprised to find beneath her careless way of treating herself and
everybody round her an unsuspected root of loyalty towards Alice and
Martin that put up a hedge between herself and Gilbert. There was also
something in the fine basic qualities of her undeveloped character that
unconsciously made her resent this spoiled man's assumption of the fact
that, married or not, she must sooner or later fall in with his wishes.
She was in no mood for self-analysis, however, because that meant the
renewal of the pain and deep disappointment as to Martin which was her
one object to hide and to forget. So she kept Gilbert in tow, and
supplied her days with the excitement for which she craved by leading
him on and laughing him off. It is true that once or twice she had
caught in his eyes a look of madness that caused her immediately to
call the nice boy to her support and make a mental note of the fact
that it would be wise never to trust herself quite alone with him, but
with a shrug of the shoulders she continued alternately to tease and
charm, according to her mood.

She did both these things once again when she came up from the sea to
finish the remainder of the morning in the sun. Seeing Gilbert pacing
the veranda like a bear with a sore ear, she told Harry Oldershaw to
leave her to her sun bath and signalled to Gilbert to come down to the
edge of the beach. The others were still in the sea. He joined her with
a sort of reluctance, with a look of gall and ire in his eyes that was
becoming characteristic. There was all about him the air of a man who
had been sleeping badly. His face was white and drawn, and his fingers
were never still. He twisted a signet ring round and round at one
moment and worried at a button on his coat the next. His nerves seemed
to be outside his skin. He stood in front of Joan antagonistically and
ran his eyes over her slim young form in its wet bathing suit with
grudging admiration. He was too desperately in love to be able to apply
to