And he answered: "Yes.... And Severn's coming with us."
"What?"
"He's coming with us—through Vienna—on his way to England. He's going back to England—immediately.... He's promised.... He's promised absolutely.... And so—you see—after all—I mean—he—he——"
"You mean he's going back to Helen?"
"Yes—yes—that's it.... He's promised.... He's given me his word.... He wouldn't go back on his word, would he? ... Oh, I know he wouldn't do that...."
He floundered on into positive incoherence, and then, as if feeling the hopelessness of speech, sank down into a chair beside mine and smiled.
VI
It was true enough that he had done it, but how he had done it was just an enormous mystery. All he said to me when he was calm enough to tell me anything was that Severn had "promised." He didn't boast of having persuaded him, though that was what it seemed to have been. "We just talked," he said. "He was quite different after you had gone. You see, you're clever, and in front of you he likes to say clever things, but he didn't bother when he was with me alone, because he knew I wouldn't appreciate them. Of course, I'm not much good at arguing, but then, you see, we didn't argue—we just talked."
And that, at first, was all that I could get out of him—the admission that they had just talked. When I pressed for details he said: "Oh, we just talked about things in general, you know—about Helen, of course—and June, and Severn himself...."
The odd thing was that he was no longer even remotely angry with Severn. He was sorry for him; he wanted to help him; he talked almost as if Severn were a pathetic little weakling instead of a man who, whatever his deficiencies, could at least take care of himself. "Severn isn't really a bad fellow," he assured me, and I agreed most cordially that he wasn't. "The real truth is," he continued, "that he's unhappy. He wouldn't let you see it, but he couldn't stop me from seeing it. He's unhappy because he's really very fond of Helen, and always has been.... And that's why we must help him."