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She even told me to
ask you something that I had asked her, and she said, 'I feel all the
things that he can explain.' And there was something in her voice that
hurt me--for her. And Madre is so clever. Isn't she clever?"
"Yes."
"And if Madre can't do things, you can imagine that I feel rather
absurd now that I'm telling you."
"Yes, being just as you are, Vere, I can quite imagine that you do.
But we can have sweet feelings of absurdity that only arise from
something moral within us, a moral delicacy. However, would you like
me to look at what you have been writing about the sea?"
"Yes, if you can do it quite seriously."
"I could not do it in any other way."
"Then--thank you."
She went out of the room, not without a sort of simple dignity that
was utterly removed from conceit or pretentiousness.
What a strange end, this, to their laughter!
Vere was away several minutes, during which at first Artois sat quite
still, leaning back, with his great frame stretched out, and his hands
once more behind his head.


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