7
Alix and Terry were alone together.
Then Alix was, as she had foretold, sick, crouching on damp heather by the roadside.
'Have you done?' inquired Terry presently.
'Yes. I hope so, at least. Let's go on to the station.'
'I wonder, is it something beginning? Do you feel like flu? Or is it biliousness, or a chill? Or have you walked too far? I was afraid you were.'
'I'm all right. Only that man—Mr. Ingram—told me things, and suddenly I felt sick.... He told me things about Paul.... He didn't know who I was, and then suddenly he knew, and I saw him know, and I knew too. Do you know, Terry?'
'No,' said Terry, levelly. 'I know what some men who were out there thought, but it wasn't true.'
Terry was a good liar, but now no use at all. Alix twisted her cold hands together and whispered hoarsely, 'You've known all the time, then.... Oh, Paul, Paul—to have minded as much as all that before you died ... to have been hurt like that for weeks and weeks....'
She was crying now, and could not stop.