They turned and began to walk along the sand. The tide was coming in. At each smooth wash of the surf it crept forward the breadth of a finger. She asked him if he could hear the peeping of the oystercatchers. He said he could, that he found it easier to hear birds than people.

“You must have been very dashing in your uniform,” she said.

“Dashing?” He saw himself—or rather he saw the portrait in the house. Had it been in reach he would immediately have lifted it down and turned it to the wall. “I fear I thought myself so.”

“As a rule I do not like soldiers,” she said. “Though I like Ranald. Ranald has saved us more than once.”

“I like him too,” said Lacroix.

“Why did you join?” she asked.

“Why . . . ?”

“The army. Why did you join?”

“We are at war, Emily.”

“I know lots of men who are not in the army. Or the navy.”

“Like Thorpe?”

“Thorpe, for one. And Cornelius.”

“My father had died,” he said. “I did not know what to do with myself. And I was used to horses and riding.”

“And that was enough?”

“Yes. It must have been.”

“Did you think about killing men?”

The question startled him. He shook his head vigorously. “I thought of uniforms and riding and getting away from rooms where I used to sit with my father.”

“I do not mean to taunt you,” she said. She asked him to tell her about his father and he did so. His character, his love of village music. The tall books written out with songs, pressed flowers between the pages. She listened carefully, despite the heat. He felt her listening as a gift to him. He thanked her.

“You have no need to thank me, John.”

They had come near the end of the beach. They turned about and regarded their own footprints.

“If you were to look away,” she said, “I think I would take off my shoes and stockings. Or in truth I don’t care if you look away or not as you have certainly seen a woman’s feet before.”

She had spoken rapidly; he caught about half of it, but as soon as she bent down he understood what she was about. He stared for a moment then looked away to the dunes. When he turned back she was standing in the sea. She had her stockings and shoes in one hand. The other hand held up her dress.

“Will you not come in too?” she said.

He sat on the sand and began to push at a heel of a boot. She laughed. “Do you always grit your teeth so when you take off your boots?”

He laughed too. “My ribs are still sore,” he said. “My friends in Glasgow.”