‘I see. The plain truth is, that I am doing nothing but make life a little bitterer for you. It was generous of you not to say so.’
‘Why did you insist on seeing that thing?’
‘Because,’ he said, striking a match and holding the flame to a corner of the post-card, ‘while I am quite ready to take flight from plug-uglies with guns, I prefer to look other kinds of trouble in the face.’ He dropped the burning paper on to the tray and crushed the ashes together, and she was again reminded of the message she had found in her sleeve. ‘You have nothing to reproach yourself with—you didn’t tell me this; I found it out for myself. I will admit defeat and say good-bye. Shall I?’
The club waiter set down the brandies. Harriet, with her eyes on her own hands, sat plaiting her fingers together. Peter
