The hope of keeping the knowledge of the cenotaph from Lucia became very dim. If Lucia had seen the February number of the Parish Magazine she had probably also seen the April number in which appeared the full-page reproduction of that monument. Besides, there was the gimlet eye.

‘The next thing was that I put up a beautiful cenotaph to you and Elizabeth,’ said Georgie firmly. ‘“In loving memory of by me.” But I’ve had the inscription erased today.’

Lucia laid her hand on his.

‘Dear Georgie, I’m glad you told me,’ she said. ‘As a matter of fact I knew, because Elizabeth and I studied it this morning. I was vexed at first, but now I think it’s rather dear of you. It must have cost a lot of money.’

‘It did,’ said Georgie. ‘And what did Elizabeth think about it?’

‘Merely furious because her name was in smaller letters than mine,’ said Lucia. ‘So like the poor thing.’

‘Was she terribly tarsome all these months?’ asked Georgie.

‘Tiresome’s not quite the word,’ said Lucia judicially. ‘Deficient rather than tiresome, except incidentally. She had no idea of the tremendous opportunities she was getting. She never rose to her chances, nor forgot our little discomforts and that everlasting smell of fish. Whereas I learned such lots of things, Georgie: the Italian for starboard and port – those are the right and left sides of the ship – and how to tie an anchor-knot and a running noose, and a clove-hitch, and how to splice two ends of fishing-line together, and all sorts of things of the most curious and interesting kind. I shall show you some of them at my lecture. I used to go about the deck barefoot (Lucia had very pretty feet) and pull on anchors and capstans and things, and managed never to tumble out of my berth on to the floor when the ship was rolling frightfully, and not to be seasick. But poor Elizabeth was always bumping on to the floor, and sometimes being sick there. She had no spirit. Little moans and sighs and regrets that she ever came down the Tilling hill on Boxing Day.’

Lucia leaned forward and regarded Georgie steadfastly.

‘I couldn’t fathom her simply because she was so superficial,’ she said. ‘But I feel sure that there was something on her mind all the time. She used often to seem to be screwing herself up to confess something to me, and then not to be able to get it out. No courage. And though I can make no guess as to what it actually was, I believe I know its general nature.’

‘How thrilling!’ cried Georgie. ‘Tell me!’

Lucia’s eye ceased to bore, and became of far-off focus, keen still but speculative, as if she was Einstein concentrating on some cosmic deduction.