Deadlock—and then the storm broke. But the rain seemed to change the feeling of the world; it opened, as it were, a window in the sky, and a cool breeze floated through, scouring and freshening every corner. We were cool at last, and then cold, and then, with tremendous suddenness, tired. Too tired to go on arguing, too tired to think of how to get back, too tired to do anything but stand under the Embankment tramway shelter and wait for the clouds to exhaust themselves.
When the rain had nearly stopped we hastened northwards through the swirling and deserted streets. It was three o'clock. We spoke very little on the way, and by tacit agreement the argument was not resumed. Only once was it so much as referred to, and that was when, bidding him good-bye at the door of his lodgings, I said: "I don't retract anything I said a little while ago, but I'm sorry I lost my temper over it."
And he answered, with shy cordiality: "Oh, that's all right. Don't trouble about that...."
IV
All the next day I was away in the Midlands on newspaper work, but my mind, even when it shouldn't have been, was full of thinking about Terry and Helen and their relationship. I couldn't escape from it; it dominated me like an unsolved word-puzzle. What had happened at the End House on that night of the dinner to Karelsky? And what had been happening for weeks and months before? It was, as a matter of fact, seven years later when I found out, and as most of my conjectures were then shown to be wrong, there doesn't seem to be much reason for setting them down. All that need be recorded is that I returned to town late in the evening and found this short note awaiting me:
"Of course you were right after all, and I shall always thank you for what you did and said. I don't know what has been possessing me lately, but I think I must have been off my head. I'm going to Vienna with Karelsky to-night, and when I'm there I'm going to work. Come over and see me as soon as you can spare time for a holiday. Yrs.,
TERRY."
V
And the next day I saw Helen. I came out of the Messenger newspaper-office about half-past three in the afternoon, and found her standing on the kerb outside. "Hello!" I exclaimed. "Fancy seeing you round here. Where are you going?"
She said: "Nowhere. I was waiting for you to come out."
"Who told you I was here?"