“Julian,” said Mrs. Gunton-Cresswell, “hitherto you have acted manfully toward Eva. You have been brave. Have you no regard for Eva?”
“None,” I said.
“Nor for Mr. Cloyster?”
“Not a scrap.”
“But why are you behaving in this appallingly selfish way?”
This was a facer. I couldn’t quite explain to her how things really were, so I said:
“Never you mind. Selfish or not, Mrs. Gunton-Cresswell, I’m out for trouble.”
That night I had a letter from her. She said that in order to avoid all unpleasantness, Eva’s engagement would be of the briefest nature possible. That the marriage was fixed for the twelfth of next month; that the wedding would be a very quiet one; and that until the day of the wedding Eva would not be in London.
It amused me to find how thoroughly I had terrified Mrs. Gunton-Cresswell. How excellently I must have acted, for, of course, I had not meant a word I had said to that good lady.
In the days preceding the twelfth of June I confess I rather softened to James. The entente cordiale was established between us. He told me how irresistible Eva had been that night; mentioned how completely she had carried him away. Had she not carried me away in precisely the same manner once upon a time?