“Oh, how horrid!” said Emily. “Will they?”

“Not if you help me.”

It was unbearable. With a sudden leap she was astride his knees, her arms round his neck and her hands pressing the back of his head.

“I wonder if you make a good Cyclops?” she said; and holding his head firmly laid her nose to his nose, her forehead to his forehead, both staring into each other’s eyes, an inch apart, till each saw the other’s face grow narrow and two eyes converge to one large, misty eye in the middle.

“Lovely!” said Emily. “You’re just right for one! Only now one of your eyes has got loose and is floating up above the other one!”

The sun touched the sea, and for thirty seconds every detail of the distant man-of-war was outlined in black against the flame. But, for the life of him, Jonsen could think of nothing but that house in quiet Lübeck, with the green porcelain stove.