ovely night.

"Yes," said Helen. She added, "The season's begun," looking at the
lights beneath them. She asked Maria in Spanish whether the hotel was
not filling up with visitors. Maria informed her with pride that there
would come a time when it was positively difficult to buy eggs--the
shopkeepers would not mind what prices they asked; they would get them,
at any rate, from the English.

"That's an English steamer in the bay," said Rachel, looking at a
triangle of lights below. "She came in early this morning."

"Then we may hope for some letters and send ours back," said Helen.

For some reason the mention of letters always made Ridley groan, and the
rest of the meal passed in a brisk argument between husband and wife
as to whether he was or was not wholly ignored by the entire civilised
world.

"Considering the last batch," said Helen, "you deserve beating. You
were asked to lecture, you were offered a degree, and some silly woman
praised not only your books but your beauty--she said he was what
Shelley would have been if Shelley had lived to fifty-five and grown
a beard. Really, Ridley, I think you're the vainest man I know," she
ended, rising from the table, "which I may tell you is saying a good
deal."

Finding her letter lying before the fire she added a few lines to it,
and then announced that she was going to take the letters now--Ridley
must bring his--and Rachel?

"I hope you've written to your Aunts? It's high time."

The women put on cloaks and hats, and after inviting Ridley to come with
them, which he emphatically refused to do, exclaiming that Rachel he
expected to be a fool, but Helen surely knew better, they turned to go.
He stood over the fire gazing into the depths of the looking-glass, and
compressing his face into the likeness of a commander surveying a field
of battle, or a martyr watching the flames lick his toes, rather than
that of a secluded Professor.

Helen laid hold of his beard.

"Am I a fool?" she said.

"Let me go, Helen."

"Am I a fool?" she repeated.

"Vile woman!" he exclaimed, and kissed her.

"We'll leave you to your vanities," she called back as they went out of
the door.

It was a beautiful evening, still light enough to see a long way down
the road, though the stars were coming out. The pillar-box was let into
a high yellow wall where the lane met the road, and having dropped the
letters into it, Helen was for turning back.

"No, no," said Rachel, taking h