“Oh, Perrott,” said Hewet.

“We got to know each other on that picnic the other day,” she continued.  “He seemed so lonely, especially as Arthur had gone off with Susan, and one couldn’t help guessing what was in his mind.  So we had quite a long talk when you were looking at the ruins, and he told me all about his life, and his struggles, and how fearfully hard it had been.  D’you know, he was a boy in a grocer’s shop and took parcels to people’s houses in a basket?  That interested me awfully, because I always say it doesn’t matter how you’re born if you’ve got the right stuff in you.  And he told me about his sister who’s paralysed, poor girl, and one can see she’s a great trial, though he’s evidently very devoted to her.  I must say I do admire people like that!  I don’t expect you do because you’re so clever.  Well, last night we sat out in the garden together, and I couldn’t help seeing what he wanted to say, and comforting him a little, and telling him I did care—­I really do—­only, then, there’s Raymond Oliver.  What I want you to tell me is, can one be in love with two people at once, or can’t one?”

She became silent, and sat with her chin on her hands, looking very intent, as if she were facing a real problem which had to be discussed between them.

“I think it depends what sort of person you are,” said Hewet.  He looked at her.  She was small and pretty, aged perhaps twenty-eight or twenty-nine, but though dashing and sharply cut, her features expressed nothing very clearly, except a great deal of spirit and good health.

“Who are you, what are you; you see, I know nothing about you,” he continued.

“Well, I was coming to that,” said Evelyn M. She continued to rest her chin on her hands and to look intently ahead of her.  “I’m the daughter of a mother and no father, if that interests you,” she said.  “It’s not a very nice thing to be.  It’s what often happens in the country.  She was a farmer’s daughter, and he was rather a swell—­the young man up at the great house.  He never made things straight—­never married her—­though he allowed us quite a lot of money.  His people wouldn’t let him.  Poor father!  I can’t help liking him.  Mother wasn’t the sort of woman who could keep him straight, anyhow.  He was killed in the war.  I believe his men worshipped him.  They say great big troopers broke down and cried over his body on the battlefield.  I wish I’d known him.  Mother had all the life crushed out of her.  The world—­” She clenched her fist.  “Oh, people can be horrid to a woman like that!” She turned upon Hewet.

“Well,” she said, “d’you want to know any more about me?”

“But you?” he asked, “Who looked after you?”

“I’ve looked after myself mostly,” she laughed.  “I’ve had splendid friends.  I do like people!  That’s the trouble.  What would you do if you liked two people, both of them tremendously, and you couldn’t tell which most?”