suffering. He had not very much pity for weakness, but he had for suffering, for it was, he knew, the strong who suffer…
If Gerda knew-'Nonsense,' he said to himself, 'why should she? She's gone up to bed and she's fast asleep. She's no imagination, never has had.'
He went in through the French windows, switched on a lamp, closed and locked the windows. Then, switching off the light, he left the room, found the switch in the hall? went quickly and lightly up the stairs. A second switch turned off the hall light. He stood for a moment by the bedroom door, his hand on the doorknob, then he turned it, and went in.
The room was dark and he could hear Gerda's even breathing. She stirred as he came in and closed the door. Her voice came to him, blurred and indistinct with sleep:
'Is that you, John?'
'Yes.'
'Aren't you very late? What time is it?'
He said easily,
'I've no idea. Sorry I woke you up. I had to go in with the woman and have a drink.'
He made his voice sound bored and sleepy.
Gerda murmured, 'Oh? Good night, John.'
There was a rustle as she turned over in bed.
It was all right! As usual, he'd been lucky … As usual-just for a moment it sobered him, the thought of how often his luck had held! Time and again there had been a moment when he'd held his breath and said, if this goes wrong…' And it hadn't gone wrong! But some day, surely, his luck would change…
He undressed quickly and got into bed.
Funny, that kid's fortune telling. And this one is over your head and has power over you … Veronica! And she had had power over him all right.
But not any more, my girl, he thought with a kind of savage satisfaction. All that's over. I'm quit of you now!
Chapter X
It was ten o'clock the next morning when John came down. Breakfast was on the sideboard.
Gerda had had her breakfast sent up to her in bed and had been rather perturbed since perhaps she might be 'giving trouble.'
Nonsense, John had said. People like the Angkatells, who still managed to have butlers and servants, might just as well give them something to do.
He felt very kindly towards Gerda this morning. All that nervous irritation that had so fretted him of late seemed to have died down and disappeared.
Sir Henry and Edward had gone out shooting. Lady Angkatell told him. She herself was busy with a gardening basket and gardening gloves. He stayed talking to her for a while until Gudgeon approached him with a letter on a salver.
'This has just come by hand, sir.'
He took it with slightly raised eyebrows.
Veronica!
He strolled into the library, tearing it open.
Please come over this morning. I must see you.
Veronica.
Imperious as ever, he thought! He'd a good mind not to go. Then he thought he might as well and get it over. He'd go at once.
He took the path opposite the library window, passed by the swimming pool which was a kind of nucleus with paths radiating from it in every direction, one up the hill to the woods proper, one from the flower walk above the house, one from the farm and the one that led on to the lane which he took now.
A few yards up the lane was the cottage called Dovecotes.
Veronica was waiting for him. She spoke from the window of the pretentious half-timbered building.
'Come inside, John. It's cold this morning.'
There was a fire lit in the sitting room which was furnished in off-white with pale cyclamen cushions.
Looking at her this morning with an appraising eye, he saw the differences there were from the girl he remembered, as he had not been able to see them last night.
Strictly speaking, he thought, she was more beautiful now than then. She understood her beauty better, and she cared for it and enhanced it in every way. Her hair which had been deep golden was now a silvery platinum colour. Her eyebrows were different, giving much more poignancy to her expression.
Hers had never been a mindless beauty.
Veronica, he remembered, had qualified as one of our 'intellectual actresses.' She had a university degree and had had views on Strindberg and on Shakespeare.
He was struck now with what had been only dimly apparent to him in the past-that she was a woman whose egoism was quite abnormal. Veronica was accustomed to getting her own way and beneath the smooth, beautiful contours of flesh he seemed to sense an ugly iron determination.
'I sent for you,' said Veronica as she handed him a box of cigarettes, 'because we've got to talk. We've got to make arrangements.
For our future, I mean.'
He took a cigarette and lighted it. Then he said quite pleasantly:
'But have we a future?'
She gave him a sharp glance.
'What do you mean, John? Of course we have got a future. We've wasted fifteen years. There's no need to waste any more time.'
He sat down.
'I'm sorry, Veronica. But I'm afraid you've got all this taped out wrong. I've-enjoyed meeting you again very much. But your life and mine don't touch anywhere.
They are quite divergent.'
'Nonsense, John. I love you and you love me. We've always loved each other. You were incredibly obstinate in the past! But never mind that now. Our lives needn't clash. I don't mean to go back to the States.
When I've finished this picture I'm working on now, I'm going to play a straight part on the London stage. I've got a wonderful play-Elderton's written it for me. It will be a terrific success.'
'I'm sure it will,' he said politely.
'And you can go on being a doctor.' Her voice was kind axnd condescending. 'You're quite well knowm, they tell me.'
'My dear girl, I'm married. I've got children.'
'I'm married rmyself at the moment,' said Veronica. 'But these things are easily arranged. A good lawyer can fix up everything.'
She smxied at him dazzlingly. 'I always did mean to marry you, darling. I can't think why I have this terrible passion for you, but theire it is!'
'I'm sorry, Veronica, but no good lawyer is going to fix up anything. Your life and mine have nothing to do with each other.'
'Not after last night?'
'You're not a child, Veronica. You've had a couple of husbands, and by all accounts, several lovers. What does last night mean actually? Nothing at all, and you know it.'
'Oh, my dear John-' she was still amused, indulgent. 'If you'd seen your face-there in lhat stuffy drawing- room! You might have been in San Miguel again!'
John sighed. He said:
