ed what he called "a run round the town." I accepted
his proposal, and having agreed with his statement that it was "a nice
morning for a sail," set off with Joyce along the mile of pier that
separated us from the shore.

I don't know that our adventures for the next two or three hours call
for any detailed description. We wandered leisurely and cheerfully
through the town, buying each other one or two trifles in the way of
presents, and then adjourned for lunch to a large and rather dazzling
hotel that dominated the sea front. It was a new effort on the part
of Southend since my time, but, as Joyce said, it "looked the sort of
place where one was likely to get asparagus."

Its appearance did not belie it. At a corner table in the window,
looking out over the sea, we disposed of what the waiter described as
"two double portions" of that agreeable vegetable, together with an
excellent steak and a bottle of sound if slightly too sweet burgundy.
Then over a couple of cigarettes we discussed our immediate plans.

"I think I'd better catch the three-thirty back," said Joyce. "I've
got one or two things I want to do before I meet George, and in any
case you mustn't stay here too long or you'll miss the tide."

"That doesn't really matter," I said. "Only I suppose I ought to get
back just in case Tommy has turned up. I can't leave him sitting on a
mud-flat all night."

Joyce laughed. "He'd probably be a little peevish in the morning. Men
are so unreasonable."

I leaned across the table and took her hand. "When are you coming down
again?" I asked. "Tomorrow?"

Joyce thought for a moment. "Tomorrow or the next day. It all depends
if I see a chance of getting anything more out of George. I'll write
to you or send you a wire, dear, anyhow."

I nodded. "All right," I said; "and look here, Joyce; you may as well
come straight to the hut next time. It's not the least likely there'll
be any one there except me, and if there was you could easily pretend
you wanted to ask the way to Tilbury. You see, if Gow wasn't about,
you would have to pull the dinghy all the way down the bank before you
got on board the _Betty_, and that's a nice, muddy, shin-scraping sort
of job at the best of times."

"Very well," said Joyce. Then squeezing my hand a little tighter she
added: "And my own Neil, you _will_ be careful, won't you? I always
seem to be asking you that, but, oh my dear, if you knew how horribly
frightened I am of anything happ