Yet she held her tongue. What sort of a human being are you, anyhow?" Enschede gazed seaward. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. It was no marriage at all. "Not a moment is to be lost," cried Jack: "follow me.
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