"No," said Wandesforde. "No, thank the Lord! that I never did."
"I have. Twice."
"You, Denis?"
"Oh, not that way. Worse, I think. I did the beastliest thing—it was an insult—"
"Evey Byrne you're talking of?"
"Yes. And for all return she—she came and kissed my hand. She said I was too good for her. After what I'd done! She—she loved me, Wandesforde. You can't think what it was like. It made me feel so sick—"
He made a long break.
"I saw after that I'd been on the wrong tack. There is a God, and He does direct things."
"Yes," assented Wandesforde.
"And of course that set me thinkin' of the other again. Lettice said I'd been hard on her. I didn't want to be hard—I'd no right to be hard on anybiddy. Especially not on another woman. But I didn't see how things could ever be as they were before. I thought about it a lot, but I couldn't get it straight. I am a duffer when it comes to people, you know. All that time, too, I was feeling pretty queer—a bit under the weather; I dare say I'd not got over the shock. It wasn't till the war came, till I realized she was out here in all this awful danger, that I might never see her again—"