He cried, “No!—I—might say something. You folks go have lunch.” They went away and at once he wanted them back, walked the floor with his hands clenched. He was afraid that Margot might come in, now. He dreaded seeing her. He wished her out of the house and away. The wish bit him. He had been fooled. He had to love her, help her. Couldn’t she go away? To the farm, where no one knew and—But they might find out. They would shrink from her as bad. They weren’t knowing and tolerant like Bernamer. He mustn’t stop loving her or let her see that he was hurt. Nothing eased him. The afternoon lagged along. Gurdy played the piano downstairs. Gurdy and Olive drifted in, out, consoling him. It was sunset. A van full of boxes went slowly past the house and the shadows on the pine were amethyst. Some friend of Gurdy’s came calling in a yellow, low car that turned ochre as the light failed. Its lamps made ovals on the street as it drove away.—He mustn’t let this sour the boy.—In the darker room the whispering began again. It might be the blood in his ears. Gurdy brought him up dinner and white wine. Olive came afterwards and tried to make him eat, lit all the soft lamps. He drank some wine and smoked a cigarette.
“Gurdy takes it well, doesn’t he?”
“Perhaps he didn’t care as much as you think, Mark.”
Mark laughed, “Awful cool outside. No, he’s bein’ brave to—cheer me up. And I feel better, honest.... My God, Olive, if that woman wants to make a scandal!”
“Don’t think of it, Mark.”
He was tired of thinking. He said, “I’ll try not to,” and smiled at Gurdy coming in. But he now thought of Cora Boyle.—Perhaps she liked Rand, wouldn’t give him up. He examined the rosy face, the trim grey suits. Yellow haired. Perhaps these dark women liked yellow haired men best. He was afraid of Cora. She could lie to her friends and make things worse. He stared at a lamp a long time and his mind fell dull again.
“Mark, it’s after ten. Go to bed,” said Olive, “Please, old man.”
“You folks go.—Not sleepy.”
They left him. He was lonely. He sat by the hearth and lit a cigarette. Above him there was a slow noise of Gurdy strolling about, getting undressed. The ripple of little sounds kept Mark company, then deserted him. Mark shuddered in the peace of the lit room. Something worse would happen. What? He must save Gurdy more pain. The boy was too young for this. Mark’s throat ached suddenly and he began to weep, spent in his chair. The lamps of the room swelled like luminous pearls melting and through the mist came Gurdy in white pyjamas that flapped.