But in spite of Miss Airedale's threat, at Atlantic City they both fell into a kind of dreamy reverie.The wine-like tingle of that salty air was a quiet drug.The apparently inexhaustible sunshine was sharpened with a faint sting of coming autumn.Gissing suddenly remembered that it was ages since he had simply 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 overher 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 waiting for him to say something.He tiptoed away and went to his room to write down some ideas.Against the wide challenge of that blue hemisphere, where half the world lay open and free to the eye, the Bishop's prohibition lost weight.He was resolved to preach a sermon.
At dusk he met Miss Airedale on the high balcony that runs around the reading-room of the hotel.They were quite alone up there.Along the Boardwalk, in the pale sentimental twilight, the translucent electric globes shone like a long string of pearls.She was very tempting in a gay evening frock, and reproached him for having neglected her.She shivered a little in the cool wind coming off the darkening water.The weakness of the hour was upon him.He put his arm tenderly round her as they leaned over the parapet.
"See those darling children down on the sand," she said."I do adore puppies, don't you?"He remembered Groups, Bunks, and Yelpers.Nothing is so potent as the love of children when you are away from them.She gazed languishing at him; he responded with a generous pressure.But his alarmed soulthrilled with panic.
"You must excuse me a moment, while I dress for dinner," he said.He was strangely terrified by the look of secret understanding in her beautiful eyes.It seemed to imply some subtle, inexpressible pact.As a matter of truth, she was unconscious of it: it was only the old demiurge speaking in her; the old demiurge which was pursuing him just as ardently as he was trailing the dissolving blue of his dream.But he was much agitated as he went down in the elevator.
"Heavens," he said to himself; "are we all only toys in the power of these terrific instincts?"For the first time he was informed of the infinite feminine capacity for being wooed.
That night they danced in the Submarine Grill.She floated in his embrace with triumphant lightness.Her eyes, utilized as temporary lamps by a lighting-circuit of which she was quite unaware, beamed with happy lustre.The lay reader, always docile to the necessities of occasion, murmured delightful trifles.But his private thoughts were as aloof and shining and evasive as the goldfish that twinkled in the glass pool overhead.He picked up her scarf and her handkerchief when she dropped them.He smiled vaguely when she suggested that she thought she could persuade Mr.Airedale to stay in Atlantic City over the week-end, and why worry about the service on Sunday? But when she and the yawning Mrs.Airedale had retired, he hastened to his chamber and packed his bag.Stealthily he went to the desk and explained that he was leaving unexpectedly on business, and that the bill should go to Mr.Airedale, whose guest he had been.He slipped away out of the side door, and caught the late train.Mrs.Airedale chafed her daughter that night for whining in her sleep.
