vernacular. Dare from his deck chair in the distance watched or dozed until the boat had departed.
"How is the campaign progressing?" he asked after one prolonged consultation.
"Splendidly. Keble and Miriam are up to their neck in statistics. They go to Witney to-morrow for a preliminary duster . . . Papa says we'll be out of quarantine before election day."
Dare watched her silently for some time. "Why do you always bracket their names? You seem to do it deliberately, as though it were a difficult phrase which you were bent on mastering."
"It may be."
"You can confess to me, you know. We've proved at least that."
She patted his hand.
"May I guess out loud?" he asked.
She nodded.
He paused to choose his words. "You feel that Keble and Miriam have grown to depend on each other in some way analogous to the way in which you and I depended on each other."
She did not deny it.
"With us, our relation flared up one day into a white flame which for you seemed merely to cast a light over your past and future, but which for me burnt into me till I—began to rave."
Again she stroked his hand. Lines of fatigue showed in her face, and her eyes were fixed on the ground.
