"Another man, Dick! A strong, healthy and well man. And what I am praying to see, Dick—for I think the tie will help you to keep straight—well and able to marry."
There ensued a moment's silence. The listener's imagination supplied the gap. What he had seen at the back of the bungalow at Wivernsea helped him thereto. He heard the passionate sobbing; the impact of their lips. Then he heard no more.
A great blurring veil seemed to come over sight, hearing, even faculty; to enshroud him. He staggered away as if physically injured. What he had heard hurt so.
On the other side of the door were Gracie's mother, Gracie's father. And they were talking of his coming back from a voyage well enough to marry.
His thoughts went away. Were of that sweet, innocent little child down at Wivernsea. As she came before him he almost groaned; it was too terrible, too horrible. Poor little Gracie!
Trembling fingers unlocked the door; he got downstairs somehow; down to the level of the bar. Called for brandy there, and, regardless of its quality, swallowed it.
It was a mechanical act. Instinct told him that he needed brandy, and he wanted to be doing something; inaction at that moment was maddening.
He walked outside.