A long while afterwards, it seemed, she woke again: Stephen was creaking cautiously up the stairs. She felt that he was peeping at her round the door, murmured sleepily, “How late you are,” dimly comprehended his soft excuses⁠ ⁠… something about the tide⁠ ⁠… caught by the tide⁠ ⁠… engine went wrong⁠ ⁠… of course⁠ ⁠… always did⁠ ⁠… raised her head with a vast effort to be kissed⁠ ⁠… a very delicate and reverent kiss⁠ ⁠… remembered to ask if Cook was back⁠ ⁠… mustn’t lock the front door⁠ ⁠… half heard a deep “Good night, my darling, go to sleep”⁠ ⁠… and drifted luxuriously to sleep again, to comfortable dreams of Stephen, dreams of babies⁠ ⁠… moonlight⁠ ⁠… especial editions⁠ ⁠… palm trees and water⁠—peaceful, silvery water.

Long afterwards there was a distant fretful interruption, hardly heeded. A stir outside. Cook’s voice⁠ ⁠… Stephen’s voice⁠ ⁠… something about Emily. Emily Gaunt⁠ ⁠… not come home⁠ ⁠… must speak seriously to Emily tomorrow⁠ ⁠… can’t be bothered now. Stephen see to it⁠ ⁠… Stephen and Cook. Cook’s voice, raucous. Cook’s night out⁠ ⁠… late⁠ ⁠… go to bed, Cook⁠ ⁠… go to bed⁠ ⁠… go to bed, everybody⁠ ⁠… all’s well.