"Then it will be good reading."
As he read it out to her, he kept glancing now and again at her face to note the effect of the words. The letter was mostly a gay account of the girl's doings in Paris—the amusements of the past week, little scraps about mutual friends, theatrical gossip, and so on. It was meant to cheer, but it did not cheer. Rivière could see that Elaine was reading into every sentence the might-have-been of her own wrecked life. He hurried through it as quickly as possible, and then they chatted for some time of impersonal matters.
His words began to come from him with a curious husky abruptness. Elaine felt the tension, and knew that he had something important to tell her. She sought to help him to it.
"Your journey to London," she said. "Did it effect your purpose? You haven't told me much."
"I had the hardest fight of my life," he replied, taking up her opening with relief. This would lead him to what he had come to tell her.
"And you won?"
"I was beaten to my knees."
"That doesn't sound like you as I knew you at Arles."
"The fight's not over yet. I managed to stumble up again for a final round."
"May I know what the fight was about?"