Conroy explained the exercises in which he delighted--mighty labours of
play undertaken against other mighty men, till he sweated and, having
bathed, slept. He had visited his mother, too, in Hereford, and he
talked something of her and of the home-life, which his body, cut out of
all clean life for five years, innocently and deeply enjoyed. Nurse
Blaber was a little interested in Conroy's mother, but, as a rule, she
smoked her cigarette and read her paper-backed novels in her own
compartment.

On their last trip she volunteered to sit with them, and buried herself
in _The Cloister and the Hearth_ while they whispered together. On that
occasion (it was near Salisbury) at two in the morning, when the
Lier-in-Wait brushed them with his wing, it meant no more than that they
should cease talk for the instant, and for the instant hold hands, as
even utter strangers on the deep may do when their ship rolls underfoot.

'But still,' said Nurse Blaber, not looking up, 'I think your Mr.
Skinner might feel jealous of all this.'

'It would be difficult to explain,' said Conroy.

'Then you'd better not be at my wedding,' Miss Henschil laughed.

'After all we've gone through, too. But I suppose you ought to leave me
out. Is the day fixed?' he cried.

'Twenty-second of September--in spite of both his sisters. I can risk it
now.' Her face was glorious as she flushed.

'My dear chap!' He shook hands unreservedly, and she gave back his grip