Elizabeth drew a long breath.

“I’m—beginning to. You—don’t know how hard it is.”

“No, I don’t suppose I do. When you learn to love your husband it won’t be hard.”

“Shall I—ever?” she asked, a pathetic catch in her voice.

Mr. Hengist took his pipe out of his mouth.

“Why not?” he said.

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth answered helplessly.

“If I were you,” said Mr. Hengist severely, “I should set about it as quickly as possible. Nothing will be natural to you in your life together until you do. Then it’ll all be natural.”

“I wish I could,” she sighed.

“That’s a step in the right direction anyway,” grunted Mr. Hengist.

Chapter Thirty

It was surprising how amicably they were living together. At times it was a strain; occasionally Elizabeth-Anne gained the ascendancy over Elizabeth. On Stephen’s side great forbearance was necessary, and greater patience. How big a strain that was, only he knew. There were days when the sight of Elizabeth almost hurt him; then he would go out for a tramp over the fields, alone, fighting himself.

His book failed to please him. He wrote and rewrote, fell into exasperation and tore up a month’s work. Elizabeth saw him do it and was horrified. He threw the rent sheets into the fire. It was on the tip of her tongue to exclaim that it would make the hearth dirty and untidy. She remembered Mr. Hengist’s words, and said severely to herself, Be quiet, Elizabeth-Anne. The hearth didn’t matter; what did matter was Stephen’s anger at his own failure. Sympathy for him drove out annoyance. She was not sure what she could say: whether he would rather she paid no heed.

“So much for that!” Stephen snapped.

This, thought Elizabeth, is where I have to pick him up and start him off again.

“How much have you destroyed?” she asked.

“Six chapters. The rest can follow them for all I care.”

She wrinkled her brow.

“Oh . . . from where Frances comes back to Southampton. Don’t tear up any more, Stephen.”

“It’s all rotten,” he said moodily.

“No, it isn’t. I don’t know anything about the style, but it’s an interesting story. What are you going to do with Frances now?”

“Drown her.”

She laughed.

“No, don’t! I love Frances.”

“Well, she’s hopeless as soon as she comes back to England.”

“Leave her in Egypt then,” she suggested practically.

He sat down. He liked to discuss his book, especially with Elizabeth who knew it almost by heart.

“How can I leave her in Egypt? She’s going to marry Derrick.”

“Can’t he go out there? If I were in love with a girl I wouldn’t stay in England when she was abroad.”

“Yes, but don’t forget that he’s too damned proud to ask her to marry him.”

Elizabeth was silent for a moment.