“Vanna, I’m going abroad.”
Her eyes dilated with surprise. This was not what she had expected. Compared with the greater dread, the announcement came almost as a relief. She struggled with the oppression in her throat and breathed a breathless, “Where?”
“To India. I have a chance. A junior partner is invalided home. I can take his place for a few years. It is the best thing—I am sure of it. I have made up my mind.”
“Is it because you are—tired of me, Piers?”
He turned upon her in passionate protest.
“Tired? Heaven knows I am tired; tired to the soul of waiting for the woman I love; of eternal fighting against self! It’s more than I can bear. I can’t go on without some change, some break.”
“You would find it easier to leave me?”
He hesitated, shrinking, then braced himself to a painful effort.
“Yes! it would be easier. You think me brutal, but I am a man. I cannot endure this life. If you cannot be my wife, I must go. It is hard to part, but it will help us both, and after a year or two we can begin afresh. I have been trying to tell you. I was thankful to know you were to be here, with Jean, for I must sail soon. In a few weeks.”
“Yes.” Vanna had a sudden rending remembrance of the moment when she sat in Dr Greatman’s consulting-room, and heard her life laid waste. Now, as then, she felt no disposition to weep or lament; the fountains of her heart were frozen, and she was numb with pain. “Yes; I suppose so. The best time for the Red Sea. You must avoid the heat... You will enjoy the voyage, Piers.”