“Make a hash of everything if we don’t....”
Then for a time the Captain meditated in silence and chewed his knuckle. His face darkened to a scowl. He swore as though some thought twisted and tormented him. “Let some other man get her! Think of her with some other man.”
“I don’t care,” he said, when obviously he did.
“There’s other women in the world.
“A man—a man mustn’t care for that....
“It’s this or that,” said the Captain, “anyhow....”
§ 11
Suddenly the Captain’s mind was made up and done.
He arose to his feet and his face was firm and tranquil and now nearer pallor than pink. He left his bicycle and trailer by the wayside even as Christian left his burden. He asked a passing nurse-girl the way to the nearest railway station, and thither he went. Incidentally, and because the opportunity offered, he called in upon a cyclist’s repair shop and committed his abandoned machinery to its keeping. He went straight to London, changed at his flat, dined at his club, and caught the night train for France—for France and whatever was left of the grand manœuvres.
He wrote a letter to Madeleine from the Est train next day, using their customary endearments, avoiding any discussion of their relations and describing the scenery of the Seine valley and the characteristics of Rouen in a few vivid and masterly phrases.