“It didn’t seem worth being engaged until—this mess was over.”
“Oh.” Audrey pouted resentfully. Then she said, “And so—what happened to this great romance? Did some other more dashing faster-working lad barge onto the scene and steal her away?”
“Yeah,” Jimmie answered. “A German pilot.”
It was a brutal thing to do to anybody. Jimmie had thought it over for a fraction of a second before answering. And he had decided to say it as he had said it. Audrey deserved it for being so facetious about anything so private and unknown. His mood demanded it. He was brimful of disappointment. He loved his family. In all the years of his absence he had carried an awareness of them in his mind with a secret relish that had made every hour of his life pleasanter. His favorite fantasy—at Oxford and afterward—had to do with coming home and settling down near Muskogewan. But, now that he had come home, he found his family suspicious of him, estranged, bitter at his attitude, hectically opposed to everything for which he stood. In that mood he had struck back at the dreadful opening inadvertently made by the gleaming girl. He had not reckoned the consequence.
Audrey sat perfectly still. She had a pink-tan complexion, unusual in. a girl so blonde. The pink faded to pallor and the memory of a summer tan turned yellowish. Two tears formed in her eyes, filled them up, overflowed, and ran down her cheeks. Her shoulders contracted with the beginning of a sob, and contracted further, in an effort to stem the convulsion. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even try to touch the tears on her cheeks.
Jimmie rose nervously and walked three steps away and three steps back. He stared out at people pushing and babbling in the foyer and he looked at Audrey again.
“Sorry.”
She whispered, “I asked for it! Practically begged!”
“That doesn’t exuse me.”
“I think—I’ll leave. If you’ll go to the checkroom and get my wrap.” Her fingers fumbled shakily with a small gold evening bag.