Wally disappeared again, and a few moments later Jill heard the faint splashing of water. She walked to the parapet and looked down. On the windows of the nearer buildings the sun cast glittering beams, but further away a faint, translucent mist hid the city. There was Spring humidity in the air. In the street she had found it oppressive: but on the breezy summit of this steel-and-granite cliff the air was cool and exhilarating. Peace stole into Jill’s heart as she watched the boats dropping slowly down the East River, which gleamed like dull steel through the haze. She had come to Journey’s End, and she was happy. Trouble and heart-ache seemed as distant as those hurrying black ants down on the streets. She felt far away from the world on an enduring mountain of rest. She gave a little sigh of contentment, and turned to go in as Wally called.
In the sitting-room her feeling of security deepened. Here, the world was farther away than ever. Even the faint noises which had risen to the roof were inaudible, and only the cosy tick-tock of the grandfather’s clock punctuated the stillness.
She looked at Wally with a quickening sense of affection. He had the divine gift of silence at the right time. Yes, this was home. This was where she belonged.
“It didn’t take me in, you know,” said Jill at length, resting her arms on the table and regarding him severely.
Wally looked up.
“What didn’t take you in?”
“That bath of yours. Yes, I know you turned on the cold shower, but you stood at a safe distance and watched it show!”
Wally waved his fork.
“As Heaven is my witness. … Look at my hair! Still damp! And I can show you the towel.”
“Well, then, I’ll bet it was the hot water. Why weren’t you at Mrs Peagrim’s party last night?”