An hour later Simon, walking in the garden alone and in meditation, reached the bowling-green. He drew close to Arbour No. 2. The grass silencing his footsteps, he passed the arbour opening and looked in. The two people there did not see him for a moment, then they unlocked.
It was Cerise and Bobby.
Simon stood, mouth open, stock still, cigar dropped on grass.
He had laughed when Bobby had caught him with Julia. He did not laugh now.
The shock of the poaching business had left him untouched, unshaken, but Cerise, in some strange way, was his centre of gravity, his compass, and sometimes his rudder. He loved Cerise; the other girls were phantoms. Perhaps Cerise was the only real thing in his mental state.
For a moment he stood, his hand to his head like a man stunned.
Bobby ran to him and caught him.
"Where am I?" said Uncle Simon. "Oh—oh—I see." He leaned heavily on Bobby, looking about him in a dazed way like a man half awakened. Madame Rossignol, who had just come out of the hotel, seeing his condition, ran towards him, and Simon, as though recognising a guardian angel, held out his hand.
Then Bobby and the old lady gently, very gently, began to lead him back to the house.