"Yes. When my father died my mother couldn't bear to live there, and we let the place. After her death I could have gone back, but somehow I didn't want to. It was only when I met Vivian——"
He broke off suddenly, and springing to his feet, began to pace up and down.
"By Jove, Barry, what fools we men make of ourselves over women! Just because Vivian was kind, smiled on me, seemed really interested in my affairs, I told her everything—all sorts of things I haven't even told you, old chap! We used to go for strolls together in the summer evenings—once or twice we motored down to Richmond and went for a walk in the park ... we used to talk about all sorts of things ... women are the very deuce for leading men on to talk. They pretend to be so interested, ask such gentle little questions, are so sympathetic, so kind ... and when it comes to sport, a girl like Vivian can talk as well as any man."
He sighed impatiently.
"We didn't talk sentiment—those days. We were chums—the best of chums ... discussed flying, motoring—she used to drive a little car of her own. Sometimes we played golf—and, by Jove, she could pretty nearly beat me! She was interested in all the things I liked, was a rattling good shot with a rifle, and hadn't a nerve in her. Clever, too; could talk on all sorts of subjects, and had read books I'd never even heard of! She spoke three or four languages ... but—but it wasn't that."
He broke off in his rambling talk to light a cigarette, and then continued, in the same musing tone.
"It was something else. She was so handsome, so—so fine, somehow. I used to think, when we were engaged, that she was like Brunhilde, or some of the other Wagnerian heroines. Sometimes I couldn't help thinking"—he coloured—"what splendid children a woman like that would have. She ... she satisfied one, somehow. You knew she was sound in every way—the sort of woman one would always be proud of—and when I thought of her as the mistress of Greenriver, I——"
He threw away his cigarette impatiently.
"What a fool I am! What a damned fool you must think me, raving about a woman who played me the shabbiest trick a woman could play! God! When I think of it—think how I was deceived, I—I hate the woman! I hate myself for being such a fool, but I hate her more! Well, she's married now—good luck to her!—and there's only one thing for me to do; I must get married too!"
"But why?" Barry's blue eyes were very kindly as they looked at his friend. "Why not go on as you are for a bit longer?"