She laughed.  “Well, spring from the foam yourself, old dear, and come and dress.  I’m getting cold.  I’m going to put on the most thrilling set of undies this morning that you ever saw.  The cami-... "

Peter put his fingers in his ears.  “Julie,” he said, “in one minute I shall blush for shame.  Go and put on something, if you must, but don’t talk about it.  You’re like a Greek goddess just now, but if you begin to quote advertisements you’ll be like—­well, I don’t know what you’ll be like, but I won’t have it, anyway.  Go on; get away with you.  I shall throw the sponge at you if you don’t.”

She departed merrily, singing to herself, and Peter lay a little longer in the soft warm water.  He dwelt lovingly on the girl in the other room; he told himself he was the happiest man alive; and yet he got out of the bath, without apparent rhyme or reason, with a little sigh.  But he was only a little quicker than most men in that.  Julie had attained and was radiant; Peter had attained—­and sighed.

She was entirely respectable by contrast when he rejoined her, shaven and half-dressed, a little later, but just as delectable, as she stood in soft white things putting up her hair with her bare arms.  He went over and kissed her.  “You never said good-morning at all, you wretch,” he said.

She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him again many times.  “Purposely,” she said.  “I shall never say good-morning to you while you’re horribly unshaven—­never.  You can’t help waking up like it, I know, but it’s your duty to get clean and decent as quickly as possible.  See?”

“I’ll try always to remember,” said Peter, and stressed the word.

She held him for an appreciable second at that; then loosed him with a quick movement.  “Go, now,” she said, “and order breakfast to be brought up to our sitting-room.  It must be a very nice breakfast.  There must be kippers and an omelette.  Go quick; I’ll be ready in half a minute.”

“I believe that girl is sweeping the room,” said Peter.  “Am I to appear like this?  You must remember that we’re not in France.”

“Put on a dressing-gown then.  You haven’t got one here?  Then put on my kimono; you’ll look exceedingly beautiful....  Really, Peter, you do.  Our island will have to be Japan, because kimonos suit you.  But I shall never live to reach it if you don’t order that breakfast.”

Peter departed, and had a satisfactory interview with the telephone in the presence of the maid.  He returned with a cigarette between his lips, smiling, and Julie turned to survey him.

“Peter, come here.  Have you kissed that girl?  I believe you have!  How dare you?  Talk about being shameless, with me here in the next room!”

“I thought you never minded such things, Julie.  You’ve told me to kiss girls before now. And you said that you’d always allow your husband complete liberty—­now, didn’t you?”