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“There is someone else,” he said. “I have a rival!”
She heard the roughness of his tone, and felt a knife
twist in her heart. He was jealous of this girl. He must
love her very much to reveal his pain to a comparative
stranger like this. She forced herself to continue to talk,
although she was feeling dull and miserable.
“I’m surprised you allow that,” she said teasingly.
“I would have expected you to sweep him away.”
“Oh, I would like to,” he said harshly. “But I am not sure
of her ...”
“You’re not sure you love her?” she asked in-
voluntarily.
“Oh, I love her,” he said, in a deep shaken voice,
“more than I thought possible. But it is she who ...” he
paused, taking a deep breath.
“Who can’t make up her mind?” she suggested
brightly. “I’m sorry.” A thought struck her. “She won’t
mind about us, will she? About us being here, like this,
alone?”
He laughed bitterly. “I wish I could believe she did
mind. But she would be totally indifferent.” He paused,
then added contemptuously, “As indifferent as your
Peter.”
Kate flushed and did not answer. They said nothing
more, and she gradually fell asleep.
When she woke she found the fire out, the room cold
but filled with cool grey light. Marc had gone, but her
clothes, now bone dry, were laid out for her on the little
table.
She dressed quickly, shivering a little, and looked
