“Till she felt sure of herself, there should have been no engagement,” Roy decreed, amazed at his own rising anger.  “Unfair on you.”

Desmond’s smile was the ghost of its normal self.  “You always were a bit of a purist, Roy!  Besides—­it was my doing again.  I pressed the point.  And I think ... she liked me ... loving her.  She really seemed to be coming my way—­till you turned up——­” He clenched his hand and leaned back again, drawing a deep breath.  “I’m forcing myself to tell you all this—­since you’ve asked for it—­because I won’t have you blaming her——­”

Roy said nothing.  Remembering how, throughout, the initiative had been hers, how hard he had striven against being ensnared, he did blame her, a good deal more than he could very well admit to this friend, whose single-hearted devotion made his own mere mingling of infatuation and passion seem artificial as gaslight in the blaze of dawn.—­But knowing so much, he must know all.

“How long—­was it on?”

“Oh, about three weeks before you came. I was on a long while.  Before Christmas.”

“Since when has it been—­off?”

Lance hesitated.  “Well—­things became shaky after Kapurthala.  That day—­the wedding, you remember?—­I spoke rather straight ... about you.  I saw you were getting keen.  And I didn’t want you to come a cropper——­”

“Why the devil didn’t you tell me the truth?”

Lance set his lips.  “Of course I wanted to.  But—­it was difficult.  She said—­not any one.  Made a point of it.  Not even Paul.  And I was keen for her to feel quite free; no slur on her—­if things fell through.  So—­as I couldn’t warn you, I spoke to her.  Perhaps I was a fool.  Women are queer.  You can never be sure ... and it seemed to have quite the wrong effect.  Then I saw she was really losing her head over you——­ Natural enough.  So I simply stood by.  If she really wanted you—­not me, that was another affair.  And it’s plain ... she did.”

“But when—­did she make it plain?” Roy insisted, feeling more and more as if the ground were giving way under his feet.

“Just before the Gym.  That ... was why....”  He looked full at Roy now.  His eyes darkened with pain.  “I felt like murdering you that day, Roy.  Afterwards ... well—­one managed to carry on somehow.  One always can—­at a pinch ... you know.”

“My God!  It’s the bitterest, ironical tangle!” Roy burst out with a smothered vehemence that told its own tale.  “You ought to have insisted about me, Lance.  I wouldn’t for fifty worlds....”

“Of course you wouldn’t.  Don’t fret, old man.  And don’t blame her.”

“Blame or no, I can’t pretend it doesn’t alter things ... spoil things, badly....”

He broke off, startled by the change in Desmond.  His face was drawn.  He was shivering violently.

“Lance—­what is it?  Fever?  Have you been feeling bad?”