On arriving at the dock he inquired for letters. He was informed that he would find them on board at the Purser’s office. A long queue of people was drawn up. He took his place impatiently at the end. He told himself that this episode was ended; that from first to last his share had been undignified. Doubtless he would marry her some day; but until she was ready, he would not think about her. He thought of nothing else. Each time the line moved up his heart gave a thump. There might be one from her. He became sure there was one from her. A man named Godfrey, two places ahead, was being served. As the G’s were sorted, he watched sharply; he made certain he had seen a letter in her hand.
At last it was his turn.
“You have a letter for me. Theodore Gurney.”
A minute’s silence.
“Nothing, sir.”
“But are you sure? I thought I saw one.”
“I’ll look again if you like.—Nothing.”
He staggered as he walked away. His face was set and white. An old lady touched him gently. “Is the news so bad?”
He shook off her kindness and laughed throatily. “News I No, it’s nothing.”
He felt ill and unmanned. Tears tingled behind his eyes. He refused to shed them. They seemed to scald his brain. He didn’t care whether he lived or died. He’d given so much; he’d planned such kindness; he’d dreamed with such persistent courage. The thanks he had received was “Nothing.”