R.D. _loquitur_: Clarice has omitted to tell you that she looked
exceedingly pretty at dinner, and made a conquest by which she has bound
herself to learn the Greek alphabet. I will take this occasion of adding
that we are both enjoying ourselves in these outlandish parts, and only
wish for the presence of our friends (yourself and John, to wit) to make
the trip perfectly enjoyable as it promises to be instructive. . . .

Voices were heard at the end of the corridor. Mrs. Ambrose was speaking
low; William Pepper was remarking in his definite and rather acid voice,
"That is the type of lady with whom I find myself distinctly out of
sympathy. She--"

But neither Richard nor Clarissa profited by the verdict, for directly
it seemed likely that they would overhear, Richard crackled a sheet of
paper.

"I often wonder," Clarissa mused in bed, over the little white volume of
Pascal which went with her everywhere, "whether it is really good for
a woman to live with a man who is morally her superior, as Richard is
mine. It makes one so dependent. I suppose I feel for him what my mother
and women of her generation felt for Christ. It just shows that one
can't do without _something_." She then fell into a sleep, which was as
usual extremely sound and refreshing, but visited by fantastic dreams
of great Greek letters stalking round the room, when she woke up and
laughed to herself, remembering where she was and that the Greek letters
were real people, lying asleep not many yards away. Then, thinking
of the black sea outside tossing beneath the moon, she shuddered, and
thought of her husband and the others as companions on the voyage.
The dreams were not confined to her indeed, but went from one brain
to another. They all dreamt of each other that night, as was natural,