“I think it’s because of Jehane—because of what she’s left undone. She never brought any song to her marriage—never made any joy for him or happiness.”
“And because of that he’s to——”
“Yes. Because of that he’s to be allowed to go under. It’s chivalry, not justice. At sea one saves the women and children first. He’s a man.”
In quick revulsion from this ugliness of other people’s sordidness, he bent over her, brushing his lips against her cheek and hair. “Shall I ever grow tired of kissing you, I wonder, my own little Nan?”
And so, in one another’s arms, for a moment they shut out the memory of tragedy.
But the angels had not done with Ocky Waffles yet.
CHAPTER XVII—A HOUSE BUILT ON SAND
There was one more letter from Jehane. She wrote that Ocky had just returned from London, where he had been on important business. She understood that he had been too hurried to be able to visit Topbury. He was working very hard—too hard for his health. He was overambitious. While she was writing he had come in to tell her that he was off again to London. Then followed domestic chatter: how Glory was taking music-lessons so that she might play to her father when she grew older; and how Eustace had a new tricycle; and how Riska already had an eye for the boys. This was the last letter, very foolish and very brave—then silence and suspense.