She watched from the end of the pier the soft glitter of the sunshine upon the broken water. She tried to puzzle out her future course, but the way was not plain to her. There was this added to her concern, that apart from the breaking up of his love for his wife, West was restless and evidently worried by some business care. It hurt her to think of him alone with his trouble, with no one who, even without understanding, could give him nourishing sympathy. She would have sacrificed her soul to have been free to link her arm in his and to offer to walk the difficult way by his side, not supported by him, not supporting him, but mutually confident, comrades, allies.
She was suddenly aware of some one standing close beside her, and turning slowly found that West was watching her with evident amusement. Taking his cigar out of his mouth, he said:
“Not for sale,” she replied. “I did not know you were coming out.”
“Neither did I. But Aggy was—out of sorts,” he said slowly, “out of sorts. So I sent her off to lie down and rest; and came along here at a venture, knowing how fond you are of drinking in the fresh air. Not that you seemed to be doing so just now in any great quantities, for your mouth was close shut, and you looked as if you were wanting to fight somebody. How do you feel for a sharp walk? Let’s go along to Hove and back, it’ll brisk us up; at least I want brisking up. You never seem to vary, like a weatherglass fixed at ‘set fair.’”
“Blessed are good appearances,” she said, tacitly accepting his suggestion; “I fancy it’s best not to show your emotions; so few people know how to sympathize. Most of them talk, and that’s the least part of sympathy—at least I think so.”
“I can only guess whether you do or not. I might think I knew what you were feeling, and I might be quite wrong.”
“Glad to be out in the fresh air; glad to be moving; hoping by talking to me to be able to forget for a while—your worries.”
“My worries?” he asked, looking at her keenly, and wondering why she turned her face away and gazed steadily out at the sea. “My worries? H’m. I don’t think much of you as a thought-reader; you might say that to any busy man, who has had a hard day and most of a night working in town.”