CHAPTER XXIII
“THAT’S the way Mummy surprises one,” said Barney as he and Oldmeadow went together through the Coldbrooks woods. “One feels her, usually, such a darling goose and then, suddenly, she shows one that she can be a heroine.”
Barney was going to France in two days’ time and Oldmeadow within the fortnight, and the Coldbrooks good-byes had just been said. It had been poor Meg who had broken down and clung and cried. Mrs. Chadwick had, to the very last, talked with grave cheerfulness of Barney’s next leave and given wise advice as if he had been merely leaving them for a rather perilous mountain-climbing feat. Oldmeadow could hardly believe her the same woman that he had seen ten days before.
He was staying at The Little House and had come up on this afternoon of Barney’s departure to join him at Coldbrooks and walk down with him. Barney had not yet seen or said good-bye to Nancy and her mother, and Oldmeadow had seized this, his only chance, of a talk with him. But, as they left the woods and began to climb the bare hill-side, Barney went on:
“I’ve wanted a talk, too, Roger. I’m glad you managed this.”
“It doesn’t rob anyone of you, does it,” said Oldmeadow. “We’ll get to Chelford in time to give you a good half-hour with them before your car comes for you.”
“That will be enough for Nancy,” said Barney. “The less she sees of me, the better she’s pleased. I’ve lots of things I want to say, Roger. Of course you understand that in every way it’s a relief to be going out.”
“It settles things; or seems to settle them,” said Oldmeadow. “They take another place at all events.”
“Yes; just that. They take another place. What difference does it make, after all, if a fellow has made a mess of his personal life when his personal life has ceased to count. I’m not talking mawkish sentiment when I say I hope I’ll be killed—if I can be of some use first. I see no other way out of it. I’m sorry for Adrienne, after a fashion, for she’s dished herself, too. We made a hopeless mistake in getting married and she knows it as well as I do; and when a man and woman don’t love each other any longer it’s the man’s place to get out if he can.”
“It was about Adrienne I wanted to talk to you, Barney.” For the first time in their long friendship Oldmeadow felt that he spoke to an equal. Barney had at last ceased to be a boy. “I’ve seen her, since seeing you that last time in the train.”