“I don’t believe you are any happier—although you seem so cheerful—than I am.”
“No.”
The rain softly murmured around them. They were the only occupants of the verandah.
“We’re not very lucky, are we?...” She turned abruptly to him, her hands gripping the edge of the verandah, her eyes bright with a curious wildness. “Colin, I’m sometimes so frightened of the future. I’m twenty-four now. Shall I always go on being unhappy and dissatisfied until I become a nasty, bitter, lonely old woman, jealous of every happy couple I meet, envious of everyone else’s happiness? It’s a horrid picture, isn’t it?”
He did not say a word, but he watched her profile as she looked out at the rain.
“Gilbert will grow more and more like his father, and he will become the right honorable member for Langton. He may rise to be Attorney-General. Perhaps he’ll get a seat in the Cabinet. I shall open Primrose League bazaars and be chilly to the wives of Labour members when I meet them. I shall go to innumerable long, stupid dinners and try and remember to be gracious to the right persons. I shall become the possessor of some wonderful china and perhaps flit about with a duster in a silk bag. And my heart—well”—with a sudden gust of passion that left her face deathly white—“I hope it will be atrophied by that time.”
They had neither of them noticed the approach of a motor, so that they were both startled to hear an English shout from the bottom of the steps.
“Hallo! Isn’t the water cold?”
It was Pat, neat and workmanlike in her blue serge, a small hat rammed down over her yellow hair. She grinned up at their surprise.