"One thing," she began just before they drew up at the hotel.
"Yes?"
"One thing I've learned in all these years is that there's nothing so bad that it isn't better to face it than dodge it. Nothing!"
"Yes," said James. "Thank you, Aunt Selina."
He walked back to his apartment with a feeling as of straightening his shoulders. His aunt's words rang in his brain. There was need of courage, he saw that. Well, he had never lacked that and would not be found wanting in it now. Not even—the thought flashed on him as he opened his front door—not even if the kind of courage that was now needed implied humiliation. He entered his home with the consciousness of having made a good start.
He walked straight into the bedroom.
"Well, I've done you an injustice," he said aloud. "I misjudged you. I'm sorry."
"Oh, you didn't give her credit for being capable of loving YOU, did you?" rang a mocking voice in his brain. A palpable hit for Nemesis.
"Oh, you know what I mean," he answered petulantly. He thought it was unworthy of her to quibble thus, particularly when he was voluntarily assuming that Beatrice had started from Bar Harbor—well, with the right idea. He had a right to doubt there, which he was willing to waive.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, "truly sorry. Isn't that enough?" His eyes fell on the photograph of Beatrice which still stood on the dressing table. He turned quickly away again.