“I believe I’m as hungry as you are. Meat in this country is uneatable—or was yesterday,” he added, with an exulting fling at his own change of mood; “but I can’t understand that it isn’t the orthodox breakfast-time. I suppose one must go to bed, but I shan’t sleep—not a wink. I say, old fellow, it was awfully good of you to send me that telegram—awfully. And now you’ve seen Anne—”
“Anne? Is she Anne again?”
“She’s never been anything else in my heart. Now you’ll understand. Enough to throw a man off his balance, wasn’t it?—to think of losing her. She’s splendid. And to tell you the truth, I’ve been fretting myself with the idea she might be annoyed at seeing me here at her heels.”
“Well?”
“Try the salmon? No? You’d better. What was I saying? Oh, I believe she was rather pleased than otherwise. Women are not to be counted on. They’ll fight you, but they like to be taken by storm.”
Wareham agreed with a groan, thinking of himself in the boat. Hugh went on—
“She didn’t seem a bit vexed. But as I said before, I couldn’t have chosen a better moment if I’d waited a year. Selfish pig, that Mrs Martyn. I don’t believe she cared one halfpenny. Those other people, Ravenstones, Ravenhills—what are they called?—were twice as feeling. The mercy was that it was you, old fellow, and no other man, who was with her.”
It was impossible to keep back a sharp “Why?”
Hugh laughed.
“You’ve never seen me a prey to the yellows, but I can imagine myself in their clutches. Another man would have meant possibilities. No, I’m grateful.”