“Such a fuss about a thing like that,” he protested.
“All right, all right; I didn’t keep you long. Now, what’s it all about?” And there was firmness in his voice which caused Roland a twinge of uneasiness. Ralph had developed since he had gone to Oxford. He was no longer the humble servant of Roland’s caprice.
“It’s not very easy,” said Roland; “I want you to do something for me. I’m going to ask you to do me a great favor. It’s about April.”
“Why, of course,” said Ralph, “I know what it is; you’re going to be married at once, and you want me to be your best man—but I shall be delighted.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” said Roland, “it’s not that at all.”
Ralph was surprised. “No?”
“No, it’s—oh, well, look here. You know how things are; there’s been a sort of understanding between us for a long time—three or four years—hasn’t there? Well, one alters; one doesn’t feel at twenty-three as one does when one’s seventeen; we’re altering all the time, and perhaps I have altered quicker than most people. I’ve been abroad a lot.” He paused. “You understand, don’t you?” he asked.
Ralph nodded, understanding perfectly. Though he did not quite see where he himself came in, he understood that Roland was tired of April. But he was not going to spare him. There should be no short-cuts, no shorthand conversation. Roland would have to tell him the whole story.
“Well?” he said.
Their eyes met, and for the first time in their relationship Roland knew that he was in the weaker position and that Ralph was determined to enjoy his triumph.