“But she’s gone. Gone without a word.”
“She has gone because she loved you so. She had intended to stay with the Gunton-Cresswells. She knows them, it seems. They didn’t know she was coming. She didn’t know herself until this morning. She happened to be walking on the quay at St. Peter’s Port. The outward-bound boat was on the point of starting for England. A wave of affection swept over Miss Goodwin. She felt she must see you. Scribbling a note, which she despatched to her mother, she went aboard. She came straight here. Then, when I had finished with her, when I had lied consistently about you for an hour, she told me she must return. ‘I must not see James,’ she said. ‘You have torn my heart. I should break down.’ And she said, speaking, I think, half to herself, ‘Your courage is so noble, so different from mine. And I must not impose a needless strain upon it. You shall not see me weep for you.’ And then she went away.”
Julian’s voice broke. He was genuinely affected by his own recital.
For my part, I saw that I had bludgeon work to do. It is childish to grumble at the part Fate forces one to play. Sympathetic or otherwise, one can only enact one’s rôle to the utmost of one’s ability. Mine was now essentially unsympathetic, but I was determined that it should be adequately played.
I went to the fireplace and poked the fire into a blaze. Then, throwing my hat on the table and lighting a cigarette, I regarded Julian cynically.
“You’re a nice sort of person, aren’t you?” I said.
“What do you mean?” asked Julian, startled, as I had meant that he should be, by the question.
I laughed.
“Aren’t you just a little transparent, my dear Julian?”
He stared blankly.