I gathered also that the son of the poet had curtailed his stay somewhat and gone back to his ship the day before.
That information touched me but little.

Believing in heredity in moderation I knew well how sea-life fashions a man outwardly and stamps his soul with the mark of a certain prosaic fitness--because a sailor is not an adventurer.

I expressed no regret at missing Captain Anthony and we proceeded in silence till, on approaching the holiday cottage, Fyne suddenly and unexpectedly broke it by the hurried declaration that he would go on with me a little farther.
"Go with you to your door," he mumbled and started forward to the little gate where the shadowy figure of Mrs.Fyne hovered, clearly on the lookout for him.

She was alone.

The children must have been already in bed and I saw no attending girl-friend shadow near her vague but unmistakable form, half-lost in the obscurity of the little garden.
I heard Fyne exclaim "Nothing" and then Mrs.Fyne's well-trained, responsible voice uttered the words, "It's what I have said," with incisive equanimity.