“She’s with her people in Norfolk. She wrote Eric that she was enjoying the change, but that she felt it was her duty to come back at the end of the week. Of course Eric wrote to her that she wasn’t to think of him, but that she must stay as long as she felt inclined.”
“How that must have annoyed her! For what she wanted was to come home as a martyr before she was ready. What a woman! Don’t you think it a miracle that Eric doesn’t fall in love with some one else?”
Madame Claire shook her head.
“I doubt if he ever will. He finds consolation in his friends, and in his books, and in his work of course. Eric isn’t a man who falls in love easily. And besides, I can’t help thinking that he still has hopes of Louise.”
“You think he still loves her?”
“Louise is his wife,” answered Madame Claire, “and I believe that it hurts Eric intolerably to feel that the one person in the world who should be nearest to him, and who should understand him the best, deliberately keeps aloof. He feels he has failed—and Eric hates failure.”
“If he has failed, it isn’t his fault,” said Judy. “It isn’t for lack of trying. If he’d been just a nonentity she’d have enjoyed condescending to him. As long as he is what he is—sought-after and charming—she’ll be what she is—jealous and bitter. I don’t see how he stands it.”
“Like Eric,” Madame Claire said gently, “I can’t help hoping.”
A day or two later, Judy found her reading a letter from Old Stephen.
“There’s a good deal about Connie,” she told her. “Isn’t it odd the way she seems to be coming into our lives again? Here’s what he says: