I thought: I shan't have to tell them till to-morrow. I had to take Norah to Lancaster Gate in a taxi, and I walked back across the Serpentine between Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park, spinning out the time so that Viola and Jimmy might be in bed when I got to Edwardes Square.
I found them sitting up for me in Jimmy's study.
I dreaded telling them more than I can say. I don't know with what countenance a man can come and tell the woman he has loved (and proposed to three times running) that he has consoled himself with her younger sister. I wanted to avoid every appearance of a fatuous triumph in my success with Norah. And after sticking for four years to my vow of everlasting devotion to Mrs. Jevons I shrank from the confession of a new allegiance. On the other hand, I owed it to Norah to declare myself happy without any airs of deprecation and contrition. And I had certain obligations to the Truth. Why I should have supposed that the Truth should have been disagreeable to Mrs. Jevons Heaven only knows. I suppose these scruples are the last illusions of our egoism. Still, I think that only an impudent egoist like Jevons could have carried off such an embarrassment with any brilliance.
As it happened it was taken out of my hands. Jimmy, who had foreseen the thing itself, foresaw also my predicament and provided for it. As I came into the room he said, "It's all right, old man. You haven't got to tell us. We know all about it."
I looked at Viola. She was sitting on part of Jimmy's chair, with her arm round his shoulder.
"Did Norah tell you, after all?" I said.
Viola pushed out her chin at me and shook her head.
"No, Furny dear, she didn't tell me a thing. It was your face."
"Don't you believe her," Jimmy said. "Your face hasn't anything to do with it. Your face is a tomb of secrets—a beautiful, white tomb. And you are all rectitude and discretion. We knew it ages ago."
"How could you possibly know it, when I didn't?"