"He may do better now that he is married," said Brian. But he felt that it was poor comfort.
They went straight back to England, and it was curious to observe how naturally and continuously a certain division of the party was always taking place. Brian and Elizabeth were, of course, a great deal together; it seemed equally inevitable that Percival should pair off with Angela, and that Mrs. Norman, Rupert Vivian, and Mr. Fane should be left to entertain each other.
It was on the last day of the voyage that Brian sought out Percival and took him by the arm. "Look here, Heron," he said. "I have never thanked you for what you have done for me."
Percival was smoking. He took his pipe out of his mouth, and said, "Don't," very curtly, and then replaced the meerschaum, and puffed at it energetically.
"But I must."
"Stop," said Heron. "Don't go on till you've heard me speak." He took his pipe in his hand and knocked it meditatively against the bulwarks. "There's a great deal that might be said on both sides. Do you think that any of us have acted wisely or rightly throughout this business?"
"I don't think I have. I think Elizabeth has."
"Oh, Elizabeth. Well, she's a woman. Women have a strange sort of pleasure in acting properly. But I don't think that even your Elizabeth was quite perfect. Now, don't knock me down; she's my cousin, and I knew her years before you did. She's your cousin, too, by the way; but that does not signify. What I wanted to say was this:—We have all been more or less idiotic. I made a confounded fool of myself once or twice, and, begging your pardon, Brian, I think you did, too."
"I think I did," said Brian, reflectively.
"Elizabeth will take care of you now, and see that you have your due complement of commonsense," said Percival. "Well, look here. I've been wrong and I've been right at times; so have you. I have something to thank you for, and perhaps you feel the same sort of thing towards me. I think it is a pity to make a sort of profit and loss calculation as to which of the two has been the more wronged, or has the more need to be grateful. Let bygones be bygones. I want you and Elizabeth to promise me not to speak or think of those old days again. We can't be friends if you do. I was very hard on you both sometimes: and—well, you know the rest. If you forgive, you must also forget."