“Not a bit of it, my boy,” the other objected. “That's just what you didn't do. She liked you because she thought you didn't care a curse whether she liked you or not.”
Ingram raised his eyebrows at such naivete. “That's what I mean, of course. So it went on all that summer. We used to shake when we met each other, and be speechless. By heavens, what a time that was! Do you remember the tea-party?”
Chevenix blinked. “I wasn't there; but I remember what happened afterwards. The poor child—as white as a sheet—and every hand lifted against her. By God, Nevile, what girls—mere chits—will go through!”
“I know,” said Ingram dreamily. “Isn't it awful?” Chevenix looked at him. He was quite serious. What can you do with such a man as this?
“They left us alone in the room, you know,” Ingram continued. “Vicky went out last and left us in there—and the whole place was charged with electricity. You could feel it, smell it, hear it crackling all about. My heart going like a drum; my ears buzzing with it all. I hadn't been able to speak when they spoke to me. I don't know what the devil they must have thought of me—and I didn't care a damn. And over across the tea-table, on a low chair—there she sat—my girl! Her eyes downcast, her mouth adroop.” He shut his eyes for a moment. “And Vicky went out, and left us there!”
“You had it badly, old chap,” Chevenix said. “Go slow. Take your time. Or chuck it, if you'd rather.”
Ingram appeared not to hear him; he was staring at the tablecloth, at his two hands locked in front of him, and at his knuckles white under the strain.
“I don't know how long I stood gaping at the window, I don't indeed. I could feel her sitting shaking in her chair; but neither of us said anything. Somebody came to take the tea out—and then I turned and looked at her; and she turned and looked at me. Something drew me—set me on the move. It was all over with me then. I went straight across the room to her; I stood above her, I stooped and took her hands. I don't know what I said: she looked at me all the time in a strange, clear way. She got up—I was beside her, and took her. Not a word said. I had her lips. Honey of flowers! Her soul came forth from them: new wine. Oh, God! I thought so, anyhow. And so did she. Chevenix, she meant giving.”
Chevenix nodded shortly. He believed that. Ingram had covered his eyes.
He drained a glass before he went on with his account. “I suppose you know the rest as well as I do. I never had the details out of her. One of them—that Mrs. King—Philippa, it was—came slam into the room; and what was there to do? I stuck it as long as I could—until I was practically kicked out. The mother came back and turned me out. I had to leave her to brave them all—and I never saw her again until I found out where she was in London.”