But she interrupted him inflexibly.
“Going away would be absolutely useless. A man can’t travel away from himself.”
“But I can’t lead a normal life. It’s impossible. Those horrible nights on the ‘Leyla’——”
He stopped. The effort he had made during the trip to Brusa seemed to have exhausted the last remnants of any moral force he had still possessed when he started on that journey.
“I had made up my mind to begin again, to lay hold on some sort of real life,” he continued, after a pause. “I was determined to face things. I called at Therapia. I accepted Lady Ingleton’s invitation. I’ve done all I can to make a new start. But it’s no use. I can’t keep it up. I haven’t the force for it. It was hell—being with happy people.”
“You mean the Ingletons. Yes, they are very happy.”
“And Vane, who’s just engaged to be married. I saw her photograph in his cabin. They were all—all very kind. Lady Ingleton did everything to make me feel at ease. He’s a delightful fellow—the Ambassador, I mean. But I simply can’t stand mingling my life with lives that are happy. So I had better go away and be alone again.”
“And lives that are unhappy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can’t you mingle your life with them, or with one of them?”