“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“You think I’m looking on you as cheap ... when I’m in an absolute funk of you!” Keith cried.
“O-oh!” Her exclamation was incredulity itself. Keith persisted warmly:
“I’m not lying. It’s all true. And you’re a termagant, Jenny. That’s what you are. You want it all your own way! Anything that goes wrong is my fault—not yours! You don’t think there’s anything that’s your fault. It’s all mine. But, my good girl, that’s ridiculous. What d’you think I know about you? Eh? Nothing whatever! Absolutely nothing! You think you’re as clear as day! You’re not. You’re a dark horse. I’m afraid of you—afraid of your temper ... your pride. You won’t see that. You think it’s my fault that ...” Keith’s excitement almost convinced Jenny.
“Shouting won’t do any good,” she said, deeply curious and overwhelmed by her bewilderment.
“Pull yourself together, Jenny!” he urged. “Look at it from my side if you can. Try! Imagine I’ve got a side, that is. And now I’ll tell you something about myself ... no lies; and you’ll have to make the best of the truth. The Truth!” Laughing, he kissed her; and Jenny, puzzled but intrigued, withheld her indignation in order to listen to the promised account. Keith began. “Well, Jenny: I told you I was thirty. I’m thirty-one in a couple of months. I’ll tell you the date, and you can work me a sampler. And I was born in a place you’ve never set eyes on—and I hope you never will set eyes on it. I was born in Glasgow. And there’s a smelly old river there, called the Clyde, where they launch big ships ... a bit bigger than the Minerva. The Minerva was built in Holland. Well, my old father was a tough old chap—not a Scotchman, though my mother was Scotch—with a big business in Glasgow. He was as rich as—well, richer than anybody you ever met. Work that out! And he was as tough as a Glasgow business man. They’re a special kind. And I was his little boy. He had no other little boys. You interested?”
Jenny nodded sharply, her breast against his, so that she felt every breath he drew.
“Yes: well, my father was so keen that I should grow up into a Glasgow business man that he nearly killed me. He hated me. Simply because when I did anything it was always something away from the pattern—the plan. D’you see? And he’d nearly beat my head in each time.... Yes, wasn’t it!... Well, when I was ten he and I had got into such a way that we were sworn enemies. He’d got a strong will; but so had I, even though I was such a kid. And I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—do what he told me to. And when I was thirteen, I ran away. I’d always loved the river, and boats, and so on; and I ran away from my old father. And he nearly went off his head...and he brought me back. Didn’t take him long to find me! That was when I began to hate him. I’d only been afraid of him before; but I was growing up. Well, he put me to a school where they watched me all the time. I sulked, I worked, I did every blessed thing; and I grew older still, and more afraid of my father, and somehow less afraid of him, too. I got a sort of horror of him. I hated him. And when he said I’d got to go into the business I just told him I’d see him damned first. That was when he first saw that you can’t make any man a slave—not even your own son—as long as he’s got enough to eat. He couldn’t starve me. It’s starved men who are made slaves, Jenny. They’ve got no guts. Well, he threw me over. He thought I should starve myself and then go back to him, fawning. I didn’t go. I was eighteen, and I went on a ship. I had two years of it; and my father died. I got nothing. All went to a cousin. I was nobody; but I was free. Freedom’s the only thing that’s worth while in this life. And I was twenty or so. It was then that I picked up a girl in London and tried to keep her—not honest, but straight to me. I looked after her for a year, working down by the river. But it was no good. She went off with other men because I got tired of her. I threw her over when I found that out. I mean, I told her she could stick to me or let me go. She wanted both. I went to sea again. It was then I met Templecombe. I met him in South America, and we got very pally. Then I came back to England. I got engaged to a girl—got married to her when I was twenty-three ...”
“Married!” cried Jenny, pulling herself away. She had flushed deeply. Her heart was like lead.
“I’m not lying. You’re hearing it all. And she’s dead.”