Joan and Peter: The story of an education

by H. G. Wells

“Joan,” he said, knocking out a half-consumed cigarette upon the edge of his plate.

“Billy?” said Joan, waking up.

“Queer, Joan, that you don’t love me when I love you so much.”

“I’d trust you to the end of the earth, Billy.”

“I know. But you don’t love me.”

“I think of you as much as I do of any one.”

“No. Except—one.”

“Billy,” said Joan weakly, “you’re the straightest man on earth.”

Wilmington’s tongue ran along his white lips. He spoke with an effort.

“You’ve loved Peter since you were six years old. It isn’t as though—you’d treated me badly. I can’t grumble that you’ve had no room for me. He’s always been there.”