Just as he’d always known her. She laid her small hand on his sleeve.

“How are the children, John?” she asked.

(Hang the children!) “Perfectly well. Never better in their lives.”

“Haven’t they sent me letters?”

“Yes, yes — of course! I’ve left them at the hotel for you to digest later on.”

“We can’t go quite so fast,” said she. “I’ve got people to say good-bye to — and then there’s the Captain.” As his face fell she gave his arm a small understanding squeeze. “If the Captain comes off the bridge I want you to thank him for having looked after your wife so beautifully.” Well, he’d got her. If she wanted another ten minutes — As he gave way she was surrounded. The whole first-class seemed to want to say good-bye to Janey.

“Good-bye, dear Mrs Hammond! And next time you’re in Sydney I’ll expect you.”

“Darling Mrs Hammond! You won’t forget to write to me, will you?”

“Well, Mrs Hammond, what this heat would have been without you!”

It was as plain as a pikestaff that she was by far the most popular woman on board. And she took it all — just as usual. Absolutely composed. Just her little self — just Janey all over; standing there with her veil thrown back. Hammond never noticed what his wife had on. It was all the same to him whatever she wore. But today he did notice that she wore a black “costume” — didn’t they call it? — with white frills, trimmings he supposed they were, at the neck and sleeves. All this while Janey handed him round.

“John, dear!” And then: “I want to introduce you to—”

Finally they did escape, and she led the way to her state-room. To follow Janey down the passage that she knew so well — that was so strange to him; to part the green curtains after her and to step into the cabin that had been hers gave him exquisite happiness. But — confound it! — the stewardess was there on the floor strapping up the rugs.

“That’s the last, Mrs Hammond,” said the stewardess, rising and pulling down her cuffs.

He was introduced again, and then Janey and the stewardess disappeared into the passage. He heard whisperings. She was getting the tipping business over, he supposed. He sat down on the striped sofa and took his hat off. There were the rugs she had taken with her; they looked good as new. All her luggage looked fresh, perfect. The labels were written in her beautiful little clear hand — “Mrs John Hammond”.

“Mrs John Hammond!” He gave a long sigh of content and leaned back, crossing his arms. The strain was over. He felt he could have sat there for ever sighing his relief — the relief at being rid of that horrible tug, pull, grip on his heart. The danger was over. That was the feeling. They were on dry land again.

But at that moment Janey’s head came round the corner.

“Darling — do you mind? I just want to go and say good-bye to the doctor.”

Hammond started up. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, no!,” she said. “Don’t bother. I’d rather not.