He wanted to tire himself so that nothing
mattered and swam recklessly, fast and far; then suddenly, for no
reason, felt afraid. Suppose he could not reach shore again--suppose the
current set him out--or he got cramp, like Halliday! He turned to swim
in. The red cliffs looked a long way off. If he were drowned they
would find his clothes. The Hallidays would know; but Megan perhaps
never--they took no newspaper at the farm. And Phil Halliday's words
came back to him again: "A girl at Cambridge I might have Glad I haven't
got her on my mind!" And in that moment of unreasoning fear he vowed
he would not have her on his mind. Then his fear left him; he swam in
easily enough, dried himself in the sun, and put on his clothes. His
heart felt sore, but no longer ached; his body cool and refreshed.
When one is as young as Ashurst, pity is not a violent emotion. And,
back in the Hallidays' sitting-room, eating a ravenous tea, he felt much
like a man recovered from fever. Everything seemed new and clear; the
tea, the buttered toast and jam tasted absurdly good; tobacco had never
smelt so nice. And walking up and down the empty room, he stopped here
and there to touch or look.
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