Well, *I* was confused.

How was I supposed to reconcile all that Maggie had told me, with this soft, pliant woman crying in my arms? I couldn't fit it all together. Either Daphne didn't care about me, or she did. Either my company was nothing more than the price for using the Winnebago, or else ...

I was, very definitely, without a single doubt, confused.

But, confusion or no, Daphne Moon was still the woman I loved, and she was obviously very unhappy about something. I didn't know what had happened between our arrival at the embankment and this emotional moment, and Daphne wasn't being particularly forthcoming about it herself, but whilst she wanted my arms around her I was happy to oblige, purely for those selfish, physical reasons.

You see, I am but a man; 'an embodied paradox, a bundle of contradictions'. I spent a few moments trying to remember who it was said that, but to no avail. I was too distracted to place even a simple quotation. That's how confused I was.

Oh, it was Charles Caleb Colton, by the way. I looked it up afterwards. He also wrote, 'When you have nothing to say, say nothing.' I think Frasier could learn a thing or two from him ...

When Daphne's tears didn't dry up after a minute or so, I coaxed her down on to the blanket, then fished in my pocket for a handkerchief. She sniffled into it, as Maggie, awkward with the emotional undercurrents, decided she would head over to finally procure our ice cream.

After she was gone, Daphne slowly regained her composure. She dried the tears, blew her nose and then looked dubiously at the handkerchief before hesitantly offering it back. I told her to keep hold of it and tried a smile, which she at least felt able to return.

"What's all this about, Daphne?" I asked quietly. A lock of her hair had fallen over her eyes, and the urge to reach and brush it aside was so powerful, it made me shudder to I defy it.

Her head dropped forward and she stared at her fidgeting fingers. "I can't tell you," she said, after a moment's consideration.

"Okay," I had no choice but to accept. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" For some reason, that made the tears come back. "Oh, hey, come on, Daphne, it can't be that bad!" I shifted awkwardly on the blanket, completely at a loss for the correct course of action.

When Maris used to get weepy, all that was needed to have her smiling again was a copy of the Society Pages and a magic marker. Between the amusing facial deformities she could add, and the bold arrows with which she'd draw attention to fashion faux pas, and I suspect, the strong scent of solvent, Maris normally found happiness. But I didn't have any of those items to hand, and I didn't think Daphne would respond in quite the same way as my former wife, in any case.

I had to fall back on repetition. "You're sure you don't want to talk about this?"

"I can't!" she insisted, a little desperately. She lifted her head to look at my face. I took the handkerchief from her hands and dried her tears myself, as best I could, wondering how to cheer her up.

Then I remembered the gift I'd bought her. I returned the hankie and tried a smile, telling her to close her eyes. She obeyed with a puzzled frown, and I reached over to grab the sarong from the bag, then placed it in her hands. She opened her eyes and lifted the fabric, frowning for a moment until she recalled our window shopping from earlier; well, I say 'window-shopping', assuming it's *possible* to window-shop without windows. Anyway, she lifted it up and felt the softness of the cloth against her cheek, then let the gift drop to her lap, still grasped in her hands. She smiled at me in thanks, though her eyes were so full of sadness that I came close to tears myself, in empathy.

We looked at each other for a strange, suspended moment. Then Daphne caught her lower lip between her teeth and tugged at it. Time slowed as I studied teeth and flesh and the faintest glint of light reflected from the moisture on her mouth ... I closed my eyes and hurriedly revisited the naked mud-people.

"Niles, you shouldn't have," she admonished.

I was ready for that. "Don't think of it as a present for you. Think of it as a present for all those fortunate enough to see you wear it."

I'd been hoping that the gentlemanly compliment might cheer her up, or at least make the gift acceptable, but it seemed as though my words were painful to the core. Daphne grimaced, her lovely features contorting with grief. If I'd been on surer ground, I wouldn't have hesitated in taking her in my arms. As it was, I sat there, awkward and impotent. I decided that I'd clearly done enough damage, so I kept my mouth shut. The pattern on the blanket suddenly absorbed all my attention.

"Niles," Daphne finally said. I jerked my head up, having lost all track of time. "I'm sorry. I'm being silly and ungracious. Thank you," she smiled. She seemed recovered. I smiled back, but I couldn't speak.

Maggie intruded on this cryptic conversation, and I'd never been more glad to see her. She handed out ice cream, and settled back with us on the blanket, to watch the bands strut their stuff on the Jazz Stage. We had an entire afternoon of this to look forward to.

For 'look forward to', read, 'endure' ...

You know, I was *still* confused.