In the spring of the following year, Clifford and Elaine were on their wedding journey to Italy. He had rented a sea-coast villa on the Ligurian Riviera, and they were travelling to there from Paris.

It was late at night when the Rome express set them down at their destination. The sea was booming eerily against the rock-wall of the tiny harbour of Santa Margherita, crowded with lateen-sailed fishing craft silhouetted as a tangle of masts and ropes.

But the morning showed a cloudless sky and sunshine dancing on the blue waters of the Gulf of Tigullio. They walked together to the tiny fishing village of Portofino, along the most beautiful road in Italy. To the one side the azure sea was lapping to their feet soft messages of welcome, and to the other the olives and the pastel pines were crowding down the hillsides to wish them joy and happiness.

They climbed together through a grey-green veil of olive-orchards, past the little white Noah's Ark houses of the olive farmers and their quaint little Noah's ark cypresses, to the full height of Portofino Kulm, where the whole enchanted coast-line of the Riviera from Genoa to Sestri Levante lay spread out as a jewelled fringe of ocean. Elaine stood hatless while the wanton breeze caressed her glorious hair and caught at her skirts with careless familiarity.

She threw her arms wide as she cried joyously to Clifford: "Just to be able to see all this!"

"Thanks to Dr Hegelmann."

"I'm glad your work is for science. Some day you'll be able to give to others in return for what science has given to me."

"Indeed I hope so."

"For a month I claim you for myself," continued Elaine. "You and I alone.... Then I'll share you with your work—your big work. You and I and your work!"

TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH