At this there passed before Oldmeadow’s mind the memory of the small, dark, hurrying figure, the memory of the words she had spoken: “Some things are like living creatures; and they can die. They can die.”
He felt rather sick. “In that case, how can you blame your wife?” he muttered. “Doesn’t that explain it all?”
“No, it doesn’t explain it all.” There was no fire of self-justification in Barney’s voice. It was as fixed and sad as his face. “It was only after Adrienne made me so wretched I began to find it out. She was jealous of Nancy from the beginning, of course. But then she was jealous of everything that wasn’t, every bit of it, hers. She had no reason for jealousy. No man was ever more in love than I was with Adrienne. Even now I don’t feel for Nancy what I felt for her. It’s something, I believe, one only feels once and if it burns out it burns out for ever. With Nancy, it’s as if I had come home; and Adrienne and I were parted before I knew that I was turning to her.”
They had begun the final descent into Chelford and the wind now brought a fine rain against their faces. Neither spoke again until the grey roofs of the village came into sight at a turning of the road. “About money matters, Roger,” Barney said. “Mother and Meg and Barbara. If you get through, and I don’t, will you see to them for me? I’ve appointed you my trustee. I told Adrienne last summer that I couldn’t take any of her money any longer, so that, of course, with my having thrown up the city job and taken on the farms, my affairs are in a bit of a mess. But I hope they’ll be able to go on at Coldbrooks all right. Palgrave will have Coldbrooks if I don’t come back, and perhaps you’ll be able to prevent him handing it over to his Socialist friends.”
“Palgrave would be safely human if it came to taking care of his mother and sisters,” said Oldmeadow.
“Would he?” said Barney. “I don’t know.”
Across the village green the lights of The Little House shone at them. The curtains were still undrawn and, as they waited at the door, they could see Nancy in the drawing-room, sitting by the fire alone.
“I want you to come in with me, please, Roger,” said Barney. “Nancy hasn’t felt it right to be very kind to me of late and she’ll be able to be kinder if you are there. You’ll know, you’ll see if a chance comes for me to say what I want to say to her. You might leave us for a moment then.”
“You have hardly more than a half-hour, you know,” said Oldmeadow.
“One can say a good deal in a half-hour,” Barney replied.