Later . . . later, she might seek a new pen . . . fresh ink. . . . Campaspe drew her scarf around her face and dozed.
When she awoke the great disk of the fiery sun was sinking into the cold sea. The ship was plowing its way through furrows of foam. She felt a little chill and numb. Where, she wondered, was Frederika? Presently she became aware that two men in heavy coats stood just in front of her, their backs towards her, leaning over the rail. There was something familiar to her in the contours of these backs; there was nothing strange about the timbre of the men's voices. At this moment the two men, who had not yet seen Campaspe, turned, and stood facing each other, their faces clearly silhouetted against the sky. They were the faces of Harold Prewett and Ronald, Duke of Middlebottom.
New York
October 28, 1922
