brutal, I’m sure, and I don’t think I’m cynical either. I look at things as they are, not as they ought to be. We are not angels, and the millennium hasn’t come yet. I suppose it would be bad for us if it did, just now. But we used to be very good friends last year. I don’t see why we shouldn’t be again.”

“Friends! Oh no!”

Lady Fan turned from him and made a step or two alone, out through the moonlight, towards the house. Brook did not move. Perhaps he knew that she would come back, as indeed she did, stopping suddenly and turning round to face him again.

“Brook,” she began more softly, “do you remember that evening up at the Acropolis—at sunset? Do you remember what you said?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“You said that if I could get free you would marry me.”

“Yes.” The man’s tone had changed suddenly.

“Well—I believed you, that’s all.”

Brook stood quite still, and looked at her quietly. Some seconds passed before she spoke again.

“You did not mean it?” she asked sorrowfully.

Still he said nothing.

“Because you know,” she continued, her eyes fixed on his, “the position is not at all impossible. All things considered, I suppose I could have a divorce for the asking.”

Clare started a little in the dark. She was beginning to guess something of the truth she could not understand. The man still said nothing, but he began to walk up and down slowly, with folded arms, along the edge of the shadow before Lady Fan as she stood still, following him with her eyes.

“You did not mean a word of what you said that afternoon? Not one word?” She spoke very slowly and distinctly.

He was silent still, pacing up and down before her. Suddenly, without a word, she turned from him and walked quickly away, towards the hotel. He started and stood still, looking after her—then he also made a step.

“Fan!” he called, in a tone she could hear, but she went on. “Mrs. Crosby!” he called again.

 Prev. P 21/145 next