It hadn’t been his fault in the beginning, Maisie’s caring.  Afterwards, perhaps, in India, when he had let himself see more of her than he would have done if he had known she cared; but that, again, was hardly his fault since he didn’t know.  You don’t see these things unless you’re on the lookout for them, and you’re not on the lookout unless you’re a conceited ass.  Then when he did see it, when he couldn’t help seeing, after other people had seen and made him see, it had been too late.

But this was five years ago, and of course Maisie had got over it.  There would be somebody else now.  Perhaps he would go down to Yorkshire.  Perhaps he wouldn’t.

At this point Jerrold realised that it depended on Anne.

But before he saw Anne he would have to see his mother.  And before he saw his mother his mother had seen Anne and Colin.

ii

And while Anne in Gloucestershire was answering Jerrold’s letter, Jerrold sat in the drawing-room of the house in Montpelier Square and talked to his mother.  They talked about Colin and Anne.

“What’s Colin’s wife doing?” he said.

“Queenie?  She’s driving a field ambulance car in Belgium.”

“Why isn’t she looking after Colin?”

“That isn’t in Queenie’s line.  Besides—­”

“Besides what?”

“Well, to tell the truth, I don’t suppose she’ll live with Colin after—­”

“After what?”

“Well, after Colin’s living with Anne.”

Jerrold stiffened.  He felt the blood rushing to his heart, betraying him.  His face was God only knew what awful colour.

“You don’t mean to say they—­”

“I don’t mean to say I blame them, poor darlings.  What were they to do?”

“But” (he almost stammered it) “you don’t know—­you can’t know—­it doesn’t follow.”

“Well, of course, my dear, they haven’t told me.  You don’t shout these things from the house-tops.  But what is one to think?  There they are; there they’ve been for the last five months, living together at the Farm, absolutely alone.  Anne won’t leave him.  She won’t have anybody there.  If you tell her it’s not proper she laughs in your face.  And Colin swears he won’t go back to Queenie.  What is one to think?”

Jerrold covered his face with his hands.  He didn’t know.

His mother went on in a voice of perfect sweetness.  “Don’t imagine I think a bit the worse of Anne.  She’s been simply splendid.  I never saw anything like her devotion.  She’s brought Colin round out of the most appalling state.  We’ve no business to complain of a situation we’re all benefitting by.  Some people can do these things and you forgive them.  Whatever Anne does or doesn’t do she’ll always be a perfect darling.  As for Queenie, I don’t consider her for a minute.  She’s been simply asking for it.”

He wondered whether it were really true.  It didn’t follow that Anne and Colin were lovers because his mother said so; even supposing that she really thought it.