Every day as long as he stayed in London he came into Eddy’s room after visiting Arnold’s, and sat with him, infinitely gentle, silent, and sad.
Mrs. Oliver said, “Poor man, one’s too dreadfully sorry for him to suggest it, but it’s not the best thing for you to have him, dear.”
The other visitors who came were probably better for Eddy, but Mrs. Oliver thought he had too many. All his friends seemed to come all day.
And once Eileen Le Moine came, and that was not as it should be. Mrs. Oliver, when the message was sent up, turned to Eddy doubtfully; but he said at once, “Ask her if she’ll come up,” and she had to bear it.
Mrs. Le Moine came in. Mrs. Oliver slightly touched her hand. For a moment her look hung startled on the changed, dimmed brilliance she scarcely recognised. Mrs. Le Moine, whatever her sins, had, it seemed, been through desperate times since they had parted at Welchester fourteen months ago. There was an absent look about her, as if she scarcely took in Eddy’s mother. But for Eddy himself, stretched shattered on the couch by the fire, her look was pitiful and soft.
Mrs. Oliver’s eyes wavered from her to Eddy. Being a lady of kind habits, she usually left Eddy alone with his friends for a little. In this instance she was doubtful; but Eddy’s eyes, unconsciously wistful, decided her, and she yielded. After all, a three-cornered interview between them would have been a painful absurdity. If Eddy must have such friends, he must have them to himself....
When they were alone, Eileen sat down by him, still a little absent and thoughtful, though, bending compassionate eyes on him, she said softly, of him and Arnold, “You poor boys....” Then she was broodingly silent, and seemed to be casting about how to begin.
Suddenly she pulled herself together.
“We’ve not much time, have we? I must be quick. I’ve something I want to say to you, Eddy.... Do you know Mrs. Crawford came to see me the other day?”
Eddy shook his head, languidly, moved only with a faint surprise at Mrs. Crawford’s unexpectedness.