"Which?"
"The Styx. You never heard of it, I suppose."
"One of them dirty rivers in Jersey?"
He nodded gravely.
"What's out there?" she enquired.
"I don't know, my dear."
"Then what's the idea?"
She waited for an answer, but his golden eyes were dreamily remote.
The girl lingered. Once or twice professional sense suggested departure, but when her tired eyes of a child rested on him something held her inert.
When she again interrupted his revery he looked around at her as though he had never before seen her, and she repeated what she had said.