He scraped several palettes, scrubbed up some palette-knives, screwed the tops on a dozen tubes of colour, and fussed and messed about until there seemed to be nothing further to do.

So he came back and seated himself, and, looking up, saw the big tears stealing from under her closed lids.
He endured it as long as he could.

Nothing was said.

He leaned nearer and laid his hand over hers; and at the contact she slipped from the chair, slid to her knees, and laid her head on the couch beside him, both hands covering her face, which had turned dead white.
Minute after minute passed with no sound, no movement except as he passed his hand over her forehead and hair.

He knew what to do when those who were adrift floated into Port Mallett.