He sat down on the sofa beside her, very close; on the edge of the sofa, sideways to her, with one knee almost on the ground. She lit a cigarette: and, seeing the appeal on his face, she smiled a little, her lips smiled, and she said softly:
“Forgive me, dear, but I feel very silent. The heat, perhaps. But go on with your speech—please do! And I’m hoping, too, that it will contain some inside information as to why you have not been to see me or even rung me up for a week. It’s such bad luck for a woman,” she said softly, “when a man of honour remembers his honour. Don’t you think so, Hugo?”
Her eyes looked as though she had left them on guard somewhere, watching something for her. But he didn’t notice that. He was one of those feverish men who never notice anything but other people’s feverishness, at which they feel aggrieved.
“See, Joan,” he began nervously. “You and I have been living a lie for two years. There’s no getting out of it—for two whole years! We’ve drugged ourselves and each other with saying we couldn’t help it——”
“You have,” she murmured. “I don’t need drugs.”
“Yes, I have,” he agreed quickly. “And you have let me. Because there was nothing we could do—so we said.” And suddenly he broke off, and put his hand on her knee. “Do you love me, Joan?”
“Yes,” she said, no more, for Joan’s love was never expressed in words, she was not like that. But it was his particular effeminacy, to be intensely pleased to hear her say she loved him. He would glow, de profundis. One of two people in love must be effeminate, after all.
“That’s been my one excuse,” he said shyly. “And it’s my justification now for what I must do—that we’ve loved each other for two years and still love each other. I’m going to ask Ralph to-night to give you your freedom....”
“So that’s why you haven’t been to see me for a week!”
“Yes. I wanted to be free to think. You influence me frightfully, Joan, you’re stronger than I am, and so if I was to think our way out of this muddle I had to do it alone. Ralph was my best friend. And for two years you and I have been meeting each other secretly for lunch and for the afternoons, and at home you’ve been living this lie with Ralph. You’ve sort of crucified yourself, Joan, because you didn’t want to hurt Ralph. And I’ve let you! It’s ghastly. And Ralph has always trusted us together, he’s made it easy for us. It’s ghastly, Joan.”