Eric hurried on desperately:
“It was almost your first public appearance since you got back from Germany. Every one was congratulating you. George Oakleigh... and Barbara Neave.” He paused, but Jack’s face told him nothing. “They were there, I remember. When I was in Japan, I saw that they’d married.”
“Yes.”
Nothing more was coming, and Eric was forced to admire Jack’s restraint.
“That was the last time I set foot in a theatre,” he ended carelessly. “I suppose I shall have to begin again... I’ve been ill off and on for some time, and it’s like making a new start with me... By the way, I met Raney on the boat from New York. D’you remember when you and I came down from Oxford for the last time? I always felt the night before was like a vigil. The dawn of a new life, a new world...” His voice became wistfully reflective; but Jack, as ever, prosaically declined to share his reverie. “It’s easier to feel that at twenty-one than at thirty-five...” Eric went on with a laugh. “But I suppose one must try... When do you start for Worcestershire?”
“To-morrow. I’m only coming here to pick up clothes and say good-bye. You know Agnes is married? And I hear your sister Sybil’s engaged... I don’t suppose I shall see you again.”
“Not at present, I’m afraid.”
They shook hands at Winchester, and Eric dawdled behind to identify his luggage. He never wanted to see Jack again. Sometime he must walk over to Red Roofs and pay his respects to the family, but he would not go until Jack was safely out of the way. If possible, he would avoid the house altogether, for he never wanted to see Agnes since her marriage. Five years earlier he had fancied that he would like to make her his wife; in those days they would have been very happy together; but Barbara had spoiled his palate for other women....
A car, driven by his sister, was awaiting him, and on the familiar road out of the town, through the dripping Lashmar Woods and across the water-logged common to the Mill-House, he listened to tidings of the family. His father was making an unexpectedly good recovery; his brother Geoffrey was home on leave from the North Sea; Basil was on his way from Salonica; Lady Lane, though worried and anxious, was very well.
“And what about you, Sybil?” Eric asked conscientiously. The feeling which he had suspected in Tokio, when he received the news of her engagement, returned to perplex and oppress him; he was not interested in his family. “Tell me about this man you’re marrying,” he added quickly.