During the first summer he wrote veritable love-letters to her and never passed a sailing ship without signalling: “Will you take letters?” And when he came in sight of the landmarks of the Stockholm Archipelago, he did not know how to get to her quickly enough. But she found a way. She wired him to Landsort that she would meet him at Dalarö. When he anchored, he saw a little blue scarf fluttering on the verandah of the hotel: then he knew that it was she. But there was so much to do aboard that it was evening before he could go ashore. He saw her from his gig on the landing-stage as the bow held out his oar to fend off; she was every bit as young, as pretty and as strong as she had been when he left her; it was exactly as if they were re-living the first spring days of their love. A delicious little supper waited for him in the two little rooms she had engaged. What a lot they had to talk about! The voyage, the children, the future! The wine sparkled in the glasses and his kisses brought the blood to her cheeks.
Tattoo went on the ship, but he took no notice of it, for he did not intend to leave her before one o’clock.
“What? He was going?”
“Yes; he must get back aboard, but it would do if he was there for the morning watch.”
“When did the morning watch begin?”
“At five o’clock.”
“Oh!... As early as that!”
“But where was she going to stay the night?”
“That was her business!”
He guessed it and wanted to have a look at her room; but she planted herself firmly on the threshold. He covered her face with kisses, took her in his arms as if she were a baby and opened the door.