She told him all that and more until she was afraid of sounding like a nagging wife and he grabbed her and kissed her soundly and told her that was the only treatment a scold deserved. And he laughed at her-he dared to do that-his eyes sparkling with merriment and affection.

He took three large towels with him. She went, too, but she made it perfectly clear that he was to get no fancy ideas. Why did he need three towels? He bent his head and kissed her when they were still well within sight of the house and any servants who happened to be looking after them.

"Because I did not think I would need five," he said.

Sometimes he talked such nonsense. "Thank you, sir," she said. "I should have thought of that for myself."

They were going to walk along the beach and around the headland so that they would be out of sight of prying eyes. The tide was out again and it was possible to walk past the headland.

"It is the best place to go, then," she told him. "Only I will see your foolishness."

He laughed at her again. And then he grew serious. She could feel his eyes on her. "Adèle," he said, "I am going to tell you something. A story. A true story. It is the strangest, most bizarre thing you will have ever heard and you may well have me carted off to Bedlam when you have heard it. But I have decided that you should know-that everything I know you should know too."

He was going to make a confession. He was going to tell her about all the whores and mistresses he had ever had. So that he could clear his conscience and lay the burden of knowledge on her shoulders. She did not want to hear it.

"No," he said gently, squeezing her hand. "It is not that kind of story, love. It is the explanation of how this miracle happened. I know, you see. I know the how. I do not know the why. I think you have something to do with that. Your unfailing love, your devotion, your willingness to accept uncomplainingly whatever of life was offered you. But you can be the judge of that."

He knew how the miracle had happened? Had he been taking some strange new medicine that she had not seen and knew nothing of? She looked at him with eager inquiry. "Tell me," she said.

"After the swim," he said. "We will lie quietly on the beach and I will tell you."

She hated having her curiosity piqued and not satisfied. But it was something important. He wanted the moment to be right.

Finally they reached a point on the beach at which they could not be seen either from the house or from the road. He dropped the towels and began to undress, looking out with narrowed eyes to the water. It was a hot day. Even the breeze off the ocean was warm. She watched him strip down to his long drawers. Lean. That was how he looked now. Lean and healthy and handsome.

"You like looking at me?" he asked.

Despite herself she blushed. But she looked steadily back into his eyes. "Yes," she said. "Very much."

"I like looking at you too," he said.

The look in his eyes alerted her and she took a hasty step back. "No ideas, I said," she told him, holding out one staying hand.

But he was laughing and stepped easily past her defenses. Her bonnet went first and her hairpins, then her dress, and then her slippers and stockings. She was standing on the open beach in just her shift.

"John," she said, shocked.

"Much better," he said, looking at her.

"I shall sit here and watch you," she said hastily, trying to suit action to words. "I shall wrap-"

But she had suddenly lost contact with the warm sand of the beach. He had swung her up into his arms and was grinning at her like-oh, like a foolish, immature schoolboy.

"John," she scolded as he turned and set off for the water, ' 'put me down. You are not strong enough. Oh, you will not be content until you have done yourself an injury, will you?"

His feet were splashing in water. She felt one stray drop on her bare leg. It felt like a droplet of ice.

"John." She clung more tightly. "Don't. It is like ice. This is most indecent. You talked of forfeits once. Let me pay a forfeit. What would you like? A kiss?" She was desperate for him to take her seriously, though the effect of her plea was marred somewhat, she had to admit, by the fact that she was giggling helplessly.

"I would not let you fall in the water, my love," he said when he was waist-deep and had to hold her higher. "Trust me." He grinned into her face. "Kiss me."

She did so.

"Of course," he said, "you have been right all along. I do not have nearly as much strength as I thought I had."

Concern was just beginning to register on her face and on her mind when he dropped her. He was laughing like an imbecile when she came up gasping and sputtering and coughing. She found her footing with difficulty and went straight to the attack. The first great spray of water took him full in the face. She would have laughed with glee if she had finished mastering the shock of the cold. Instead she threw herself backward on the water and swam away from him.

And then he was beside her, matching her stroke for stroke, examining the blue sky above them and the few fluffy clouds, as she was doing. She remembered his teaching her to swim when she was five years old and terrified of water. He had taught her how to put her head under and how to open her eyes-and then he had taught her all the rest. He had been nine years old-totally dependable, totally adult.

"You wretch," she said when they were standing again in water that reached almost to her shoulders. "John, that was a dreadful thing to do." But she was putting her arms up about his shoulders and leaning her body against his and lifting her face for his kiss.

"John, you wretch," she whispered again, shocked, after a minute or so when she felt his hands hoisting her shift to her waist. He lifted her in the water, parting her legs to wrap about him. He was inside her with one firm thrust.

It took very little time. The mix of buoyancy and cool water and heat at their core was delirious. It seemed that the lessons would never end. There was always something new.

He floated onto his back when they were finished, and she swam beside him in a lazy crawl.

"You are going to be tired," she could not resist saying.

"No future tense about it," he admitted, smiling lazily at her. "Shall we go back to the towels?"

"Yes," she said. "We can lie there drying off in the sun and you can tell me your story."

They walked hand in hand up the beach. She knew he was tired. But it was the tiredness of healthy exertion. After he had told his story, she would let him sleep and she would stay awake to make sure that they did not bake too much in the sun.

He had decided to tell her his story. There should be no secrets in marriage, he thought, except perhaps details of one's past that could only hurt. She should know that the John who had recovered from consumption and consummated their marriage and lived with her ever since was not quite the same John she had loved all her life and married.

Perhaps she would not believe him. But he thought she probably would. She loved him and trusted him enough to know when he spoke truth to her.

Their flesh had chilled in the walk up the beach. They toweled off briskly and then he spread the dry towel on the sand so that they could lie down and relax after their swim and their lovemaking and be warmed by the sun. He held her hand in his, turning her ring between his thumb and forefinger. Life was very good, he thought, and had been very kind to them.

"John," she said, "don't fall asleep yet. You have a story to tell me."

"And so I do." He turned his head to smile at her.

"Well?" she said after he had been silent for a few moments.