“What was her name?”
“Adela.... She was little and fair; and she was a little sport. But I only married her because I was curious. I didn’t care for her. In a couple of months I knew I’d made a mistake. She told me herself. She knew much more than I did. She was older than I was; and she knew a lot for her age—about men. She’d been engaged to one and another since she was fifteen; and in ten years you get to know a good deal. I think she knew everything about men—and I was a boy. She died two years ago. Well, after I’d been with her for a year I broke away. She only wanted me to fetch and carry.... She ‘took possession’ of me, as they say. I went into partnership with a man who let me in badly; and Adela went back to her work and I went back to sea. And a year later I went to prison because a woman I was living with was a jealous cat and got the blame thrown on to me for something I knew nothing about. D’you see? Prison. Never mind the details. When I came out of prison I was going downhill as fast as a barrel; and then I saw an advertisement of Templecombe’s for a skipper. I saw him, and told him all about myself; and he agreed to overlook my little time in prison if I signed on with him to look after this yacht. Now you see I haven’t got a very good record. I’ve been in prison; and I’ve lived with three women; and I’ve got no prospects except that I’m a good sailor and know my job. But I never did what I was sent to prison for; and, as I told you, the three women all knew more than I did. I’ve never done a girl any harm intentionally; and the last of them belongs to six years ago. Since then I’ve met other girls, and some of them have run after me because I was a sailorman. They do, you know. You’re the girl I love; and I want you to remember that I was a kid when I got married. That’s the tale, Jenny; and every word of it’s true. And now what d’you think of it? Are you afraid of me now? Don’t you think I’m a bit of a fool? Or d’you think I’m the sort of fellow that fools the girls?”
There was no reply to his question for a long time; until Keith urged her afresh.
“What I’m wondering,” said Jenny, in a slow and rather puzzled way, “is, what you’d think of me if I’d lived with three different men. Because I’m twenty-five, you know.”
iv
It might have checked Keith in mid-career. His tone had certainly not been one of apology. But along with a natural complacency he had the honesty that sometimes accompanies success in affairs.
“Well,” he said frankly, “I shouldn’t like it, Jen.”
“How d’you think I like it?”
“D’you love me? Jenny, dear!”
“I don’t know. I don’t see why you should be different.”