let his mind run slack and allowed life to go by unstudied. Mr.
and Mrs. Airedale occupied a suite high up in the terraced mass
of the huge hotel; they wrapped themselves in rugs and basked on
their private balcony. Gissing and the daughter were left to
their own amusements. They bathed in the warm September surf;
they strolled the Boardwalk up beyond the old Absecon light,
where the green glimmer of water runs in under the promenade.
They sat on the deck of the hotel--or rather Miss Airedale sat,
while Gissing, courteously attentive, leaned over her
steamer-chair. He stood so for hours, apparently in devoted chat;
but in fact he was half in dream. The smooth flow of the little
rolling shays just below had a soothing hypnotic erect. But it
was the glorious polished blue of the sea-horizon that bounded
all his thoughts. Even while Miss Airedale gazed archly up at
him, and he was busy with cheerful conversation, he was conscious
of that broad band of perfect colour, monotonous, comforting,
thrilling. For the first time he realized the great rondure of
the world. His mind went back to the section of the prayer-book
that had always touched him most pointedly--the "Forms of Prayer
to be Used at Sea." In them he had found a note of sincere terror
and humility. And now he viewed the sea for the first time in
this setting of notable irony. The open dazzle of placid
elements, obedient only to some cosmic calculus, lay as a serene
curtain against which the quaint flamboyance of the Boardwalk was
all the more amusing. The clear rim of sea curving off into space
drew him with painful curiosity. Here at last was what he had
needed. The proud waters went over his soul. Here indeed the blue
began.

He looked down at Miss Airedale, who had gone to sleep while