"You mean I have no self?"
"You are too young to have a self."
He had better have left that unsaid, for by saying it, he woke her.
One morning there came a paper containing a notice to the effect that a volume of his poems had appeared with a London publisher.
"Shall we go to London?" she suggested.
"Yes, gladly, though I don't believe these notices which I have read so often. Anyhow, as a business journey, it can be made to pay its own expenses."
The resolve was carried out. They saw the little island[1] disappear with the same joy with which they had before seen it rise out of the mist.
In Dover they had to stay one day at an hotel. As he returned from a walk, he found his wife sealing up six packets, all of the same shape and size.
"What are you doing?" he asked.