The flash of her old bantering manner cheered him. He laughed a little compliment to her sagacity.
“I chose Victoria because it was nearer to you,” he said.
They reached the hotel. Hugh explained his wants at the office. A waiter conducted them to a private sitting-room, switched on the light, drew down the Venetian blinds, and left them to the room’s rather stiff and imposing comforts.
“You must be very tired,” said Irene, womanlike. “Go and get something to eat—and then we’ll talk. Do. To please me.”
Her old solicitude and kindly intimacy. The upheaval had not altered her attitude towards him. Her steadfastness touched him deeply.
“You have a heart of gold, Irene,” he said.
But he disclaimed hunger or fatigue, and sat down in the saddle-bag chair opposite her, wondering at the peace of mind that these few moments of companionship could bring him, in defiance of the devastating emotions at work below the surface. She pushed up her veil and regarded him wistfully.
“You are looking much older. Your face has grown lined—and no wonder.”
“What I have gone through is small compared with the ruin I have brought on you.”
“If it is in any way your doing, Hugh, you have brought me to the truth,” she replied.