"True," said Richard. "Perfectly true." He paused. "When I look back
over my life--I'm forty-two--what are the great facts that stand out?
What were the revelations, if I may call them so? The misery of the poor
and--" (he hesitated and pitched over) "love!"

Upon that word he lowered his voice; it was a word that seemed to unveil
the skies for Rachel.

"It's an odd thing to say to a young lady," he continued. "But have you
any idea what--what I mean by that? No, of course not. I don't use the
word in a conventional sense. I use it as young men use it. Girls are
kept very ignorant, aren't they? Perhaps it's wise--perhaps--You _don't_
know?"

He spoke as if he had lost consciousness of what he was saying.

"No; I don't," she said, scarcely speaking above her breath.

"Warships, Dick! Over there! Look!" Clarissa, released from Mr. Grice,
appreciative of all his seaweeds, skimmed towards them, gesticulating.

She had sighted two sinister grey vessels, low in the water, and bald
as bone, one closely following the other with the look of eyeless beasts
seeking their prey. Consciousness returned to Richard instantly.

"By George!" he exclaimed, and stood shielding his eyes.

"Ours, Dick?" said Clarissa.

"The Mediterranean Fleet," he answered.