For months past he had endured that supreme tyranny--the domination of the woman--till his whole life seemed to be spent between thinking about her and waiting for her at appointed corners.

The hours they spent together fled with incredible speed, and she always shortened the flying minutes by coming late, with one of half a dozen excuses that he knew by heart.
Their first meeting had been at the Quay the day after he had brought Ada home drunk from the "Angel", and since then a silent understanding had grown between them that they should always meet there and cross the water, as Jonah's conspicuous figure made recognition very likely in the streets and parks of the city.
The first passion of his life--love of his child--had for ever stamped on his brain the scenes and atmosphere of Cardigan Street, the struggle for life on the Road, and the march of triumph to the "Silver Shoe".
And this, the second passion of his life--love of a woman--was set like a stage-play among the wide spaces of sea and sky, the flight of gulls, the encircling hills, and the rough, salt breath of the harbour.
Suddenly he saw her crossing the road, threading her way between the electric cars, and noted with intense satisfaction the distinction of her figure, clothed in light tweed, with an air of scrupulous neatness in which she could hold her own with the rich idlers from the Shore.
She smiled at him with her peculiar, intense look, and then frowned slightly.

Jonah knew that something was wrong, and remembered that he had forgotten to raise his hat, an accomplishment that she had taught him with much difficulty.
"So sorry to be late, but I couldn't really help it.

I'll tell you presently," she said, as they passed the turnstiles.
Jonah knew by her voice that she was in a bad temper, and his heart sank.

The afternoon that he had waited for and counted on for nearly a week would be spoiled.