oyce
sitting beside me in the boat while we bowled along cheerfully through
the water was quite enough in itself to account for my new-found
happiness. One realizes some things in life with curious abruptness,
and I knew now how deeply and passionately I loved her. I suppose I
had always done so really, but she had been little more than a child
in the old Chelsea days, and the sort of brotherly tenderness and
pride I had had for her must have blinded me to the truth.

Anyhow it was out now; out beyond any question of doubt or argument.
She was as necessary and dear to me as the stars are to the night, and
it seemed ridiculously impossible to contemplate any sort of existence
without her. Not that I wasted much energy attempting the feat; the
present was sufficiently charming to occupy my entire time.

We passed Leigh and Southend, the former with its fleet of
fishing-smacks and the latter with its long unlovely pier, and then
nosed our way delicately into the Jenkin Swatch, that convenient ditch
which runs right across the mouth of the Thames. The sun was now high
in the sky, and one could see signs of activity on the various barges
that were hanging about the neighbourhood waiting for the tide.

I pointed away past the Nore Lightship towards a bit of rising ground
on the low-lying Sheppey coast.

"That's about where our pals are hanging out," I said. "There's
a little deep-water creek there, which Tommy and I used to use
sometimes, and according to Mr. Gow their bungalow is close by."

Joyce peered out under her hand across the intervening water. "It's a
nice situation," she observed, "for artists."

I laughed. "Yes," I said. "They are so close to Sheerness and
Shoeburyness, and other places of beauty. I expect they've done quite
a lot of quiet sketching."

We reached the end of the Swatch, and leaving Queenborough, with its
grim collection of battleships and coal hulks, to starboard, we stood
out to sea along the coastline. It was a fairly long sail to the place
which I had pointed out to Joyce, but with a light breeze behind her
the _Betty_ danced along so gaily that we covered the distance in a
surprisingly short time.

As we drew near, Joyce got out Tommy's field-glasses from the cabin,
and kneeling up on the seat in the well, focused them carefully on the
spot.

"There's the entrance to the creek all right," she said, "but I don't
see any sign of a bungalow anywhere." She moved the glasses slowly
from