sit with her quietly in the dusk, his arm round her neck and her face on his shoulder, as befitted husband and wife. Torpenhow's boots creaked that night, and his strong voice jarred. Dick's brows contracted and he murmured an evil word because he had taken all his success as a right and part payment for past discomfort, and now he was checked in his stride by a woman who admitted all the success and did not instantly care for him.
'I say, old man,' said Torpenhow, who had made one or two vain attempts at conversation, 'I haven't put your back up by anything I've said lately, have I?'
'You! No. How could you?'
'Liver out of order?'
'The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a liver. I'm only a bit worried about things in general. I suppose it's my soul.'
'The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a soul. What business have you with luxuries of that kind?'
'It came of itself. Who's the man that says that we're all islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstandings?'
'He's right, whoever he is,—except about the misunderstanding. I don't think we could misunderstand each other.'
