How could that be? If he found now that he 'd been taking a wrong moral turn, all he had to do was to turn back. His way was easy.
Was it?
It was ... if he were sorry he 'd gone wrong. Was he sorry that he 'd gone wrong?
Of course he was sorry. The difficulty was he 'd gone such a deuce of a long way wrong.
Ah! Longer, perhaps, than he 'd said.
Not longer than he 'd said, but quite long enough, without saying a word. To turn all the way back, at this stage of the proceedings—with explanation or without—was a desperately hard thing to do.
If duty compelled it, nevertheless?
Why should duty compel him to do anything so unpleasant?
But surely that was a strange way to speak of a duty which merely implied his obligation to the Other Girl. Presumably, as things stood, he loved her.
Presumably he did.