“I had to.” The answer came without hesitation, but she paused at once to consider it. Eric wondered whether he had heard regret in her voice.
“If he came to see you to-night,” Eric propounded, “if he explained away whatever happened two nights ago and said that he’d always meant to marry you and wanted to marry you, if he told you that it was simply a question of money—”
She interrupted with a vigorous shake of the head:
“You don’t understand! He’s a different man.”
“He was the man you fell in love with, Ivy.”
“No! I’d been mistaken in him.”
“I only want to be sure that you’re not mistaken now.”
“I’m certain now.”
There was no profit in reminding her that she must have felt at least as certain before she surrendered to Gaymer. Eric concentrated his attention on the punt, which was making slow progress against the wind and stream. As they came alongside the lawn of the Guards Club, he saw Ivy stiffen and look away; there was no apparent reason for her abrupt movement, as he could only see two wounded officers, playing with a dog, and the back of a third, who was making his way slowly towards the club-house. Evidently she did not want to be seen, and Eric felt a twinge of misgiving when he reflected how little he knew of her. Whenever a man married, he had to some extent to inherit the relations and friends, the family bores and family feuds of his wife, with a greater or less legacy of complications and indiscretions; all that he knew of Ivy and her world could be written on a single sheet of paper.
Tea was a silent and reflective meal for both of them. It was only when they had driven to the station and were walking up and down the platform that he found a reason for her embarrassment. On a bench by the head of the stairs two officers were playing with a dog; between them sat Gaymer. Now as before, Ivy saw him first, but this time he saw her and bowed. Eric would have walked on, but one of the wounded officers waved a crutch and hailed him by name.