The Reef, or Where happiness breaks
“
Unexpected
obstacle
.
Please
don
’
t
come
till
thirtieth
.
Anna
.
”
All
the
way
from
Charing
Cross
to
Dover
the
train
had
hammered
the
words
of
the
telegram
into
George
Darrow
’
s
ears
,
ringing
every
change
of
irony
on
its
commonplace
syllables
:
rattling
them
out
like
a
discharge
of
musketry
,
letting
them
,
one
by
one
,
drip
slowly
and
coldly
into
his
brain
,
or
shaking
,
tossing
,
transposing
them
like
the
dice
in
some
game
of
the
gods
of
malice
;
and
now
,
as
he
emerged
from
his
compartment
at
the
pier
,
and
stood
facing
the
wind
-
swept
platform
and
the
angry
sea
beyond
,
they
leapt
out
at
him
as
if
from
the
crest
of
the
waves
,
stung
and
blinded
him
with
a
fresh
fury
of
derision
.
“
Unexpected
obstacle
.
Please
don
’
t
come
till
thirtieth
.
Anna
.
”
She
had
put
him
off
at
the
very
last
moment
,
and
for
the
second
time
:
put
him
off
with
all
her
sweet
reasonableness
,
and
for
one
of
her
usual
“
good
”
reasons
—
he
was
certain
that
this
reason
,
like
the
other
,
(
the
visit
of
her
husband
’
s
uncle
’
s
widow
)
would
be
“
good
”
!
But
it
was
that
very
certainty
which
chilled
him
.
The
fact
of
her
dealing
so
reasonably
with
their
case
shed
an
ironic
light
on
the
idea
that
there
had
been
any
exceptional
warmth
in
the
greeting
she
had
given
him
after
their
twelve
years
apart
.
They
had
found
each
other
again
,
in
London
,
some
three
months
previously
,
at
a
dinner
at
the
American
Embassy
,
and
when
she
had
caught
sight
of
him
her
smile
had
been
like
a
red
rose
pinned
on
her
widow
’
s
mourning
.
He
still
felt
the
throb
of
surprise
with
which
,
among
the
stereotyped
faces
of
the
season
’
s
diners
,
he
had
come
upon
her
unexpected
face
,
with
the
dark
hair
banded
above
grave
eyes
;
eyes
in
which
he
had
recognized
every
little
curve
and
shadow
as
he
would
have
recognized
,
after
half
a
life
-
time
,
the
details
of
a
room
he
had
played
in
as
a
child
.
And
as
,
in
the
plumed
starred
crowd
,
she
had
stood
out
for
him
,
slender
,
secluded
and
different
,
so
he
had
felt
,
the
instant
their
glances
met
,
that
he
as
sharply
detached
himself
for
her
.
All
that
and
more
her
smile
had
said
;
had
said
not
merely
“
I
remember
,
”
but
“
I
remember
just
what
you
remember
”
;
almost
,
indeed
,
as
though
her
memory
had
aided
his
,
her
glance
flung
back
on
their
recaptured
moment
its
morning
brightness
.
Certainly
,
when
their
distracted
Ambassadress
—
with
the
cry
:
“
Oh
,
you
know
Mrs
.
Leath
?
That
’
s
perfect
,
for
General
Farnham
has
failed
me
”
—
had
waved
them
together
for
the
march
to
the
dining
-
room
,
Darrow
had
felt
a
slight
pressure
of
the
arm
on
his
,
a
pressure
faintly
but
unmistakably
emphasizing
the
exclamation
:
“
Isn
’
t
it
wonderful
?
—
In
London
—
in
the
season
—
in
a
mob
?
”
Little
enough
,
on
the
part
of
most
women
;
but
it
was
a
sign
of
Mrs
.
Leath
’
s
quality
that
every
movement
,
every
syllable
,
told
with
her
.
Even
in
the
old
days
,
as
an
intent
grave
-
eyed
girl
,
she
had
seldom
misplaced
her
light
strokes
;
and
Darrow
,
on
meeting
her
again
,
had
immediately
felt
how
much
finer
and
surer
an
instrument
of
expression
she
had
become
.
Their
evening
together
had
been
a
long
confirmation
of
this
feeling
.
She
had
talked
to
him
,
shyly
yet
frankly
,
of
what
had
happened
to
her
during
the
years
when
they
had
so
strangely
failed
to
meet
.
She
had
told
him
of
her
marriage
to
Fraser
Leath
,
and
of
her
subsequent
life
in
France
,
where
her
husband
’
s
mother
,
left
a
widow
in
his
youth
,
had
been
re
-
married
to
the
Marquis
de
Chantelle
,
and
where
,
partly
in
consequence
of
this
second
union
,
the
son
had
permanently
settled
himself
.
She
had
spoken
also
,
with
an
intense
eagerness
of
affection
,
of
her
little
girl
Effie
,
who
was
now
nine
years
old
,
and
,
in
a
strain
hardly
less
tender
,
of
Owen
Leath
,
the
charming
clever
young
stepson
whom
her
husband
’
s
death
had
left
to
her
care
.
.
.
