"He didn't come with us to the flat because he was afraid he'd be seized for debts and things.
We've only been here a fortnight. He's probably on board ship somewhere—there hasn't been much time for him to let me know...."
Fay spoke plaintively, as though Jan were rather hard on Hugo in expecting him to give his wife any account of his movements.
Jan was glad it was dark. She felt bewildered and oppressed and very, very angry with her brother-in-law, who seemed to have left his entire household in the care of Peter Ledgard. Was Peter paying for their very food, she wondered? She'd put a stop to that, anyhow.
"Jan"—she felt Fay lean a little closer—"don't be down on me. You've no idea how hard it has all been. You're such a daylight person yourself."
"Hard on you, my precious! I could never feel the least little bit hard. Only it's all so puzzling. And what do you mean by a 'daylight person'?"
"You know, Jan, for three months now I've been a lot alone, and I've done a deal of thinking—more than ever in all my life before; and it seems to me that the world is divided into three kinds of people—the daylight people, and the twilight people and the night people."
Fay paused. Jan stroked her hot, thin hand, but did not speak, and the tired, whispering voice went on: "We were daylight people—Daddie was very daylight. There were never any mysteries; we all of us knew always where each of us was, and there were no secrets and no queer people coming for interviews, and it wouldn't have mat
tered very much if anyone had opened one of our letters. Oh, it's such an easy life in the daylight country...."
"And in the twilight country?" asked Jan.