“Does Mrs. Bradley know that I know?” Alix asked.
“Not yet,” said Giles. “I told her just now that I’d rather not talk about it for a little while. She’s a good deal knocked up. But, if you agree, all I need say to her, Alix, dear, is that I myself have explained to you the grounds of Lady Mary’s objection. Toppie, I am sure, will say nothing. Mummy need never know more than what she’s learned from Lady Mary. She doesn’t know what Toppie knows.”
Alix sat silent, looking into the fire.
“We needn’t talk about any of that, you see, any more,” Giles took up presently, having walked to the window and back again while he raged at his helplessness. “Never forget what I said to you yesterday. That’s all you need understand. I’ll make Mummy understand it, too. And as for you, she only loves you the more because of your—your difficulties. What we must talk about, you know, is Jerry. I’d really forgotten all about him.”
“Yes, I had, too.” Alix did not raise her eyes. “What is there to say of him?”
Giles, his hands in his pockets, gazed down at her. “He hasn’t forgotten you.”
“I hope he soon may learn to,” said Alix.
“But, Alix, Jerry is sticking to you,” Giles protested. “Jerry is all right. I’m very pleased about him. I thought it probable he wasn’t good enough for you and now I find he is.”
“I am quite sure he is good enough. That is not the question,” said Alix. She sat there, leaning slightly against her cushion, her hands folded in her lap, and looked into the fire. “I need not think of Jerry now. I have only one person to think about, and that is my mother. I must go back to her at once. To-morrow, Giles.”
“But surely you’re not going to chuck Jerry!” cried Giles.