, "Are you Colin's mistress?"

"If they wanted us to know," said Adeline, "they'd have told us. There
you are."

"Supposing it isn't true, do you imagine he cares for her?"

"Yes, Jerrold. I'm quite, quite sure of that. I was down there last week
and saw them. He can't bear her out of his sight one minute. He couldn't
not care."

"And Anne?"

"Oh, well, Anne isn't going to give herself away. But I'm certain...
Would she stick down there, with everybody watching them and thinking
things and talking, if she didn't care so much that nothing matters?"

"But would she--would she--"

The best of his mother was that in these matters her mind jumped to meet
yours halfway. You hadn't got to put things into words.

"My dear, if you think she wouldn't, supposing she cared enough, you
don't know Anne."

"I shall go down," he said, "and see her."

"If you do, for goodness' sake be careful. Even supposing there's
nothing in it, you mustn't let Colin see you think there is. He'd feel
then that he ought to leave her for fear of compromising her. And if he
leaves her he'll be as bad as ever again. And _I_ can't manage him.
Nobody can manage him but Anne. That's how they've tied our hands. We
can't say anything."

"I see."

"After all, Jerrold, it's very simple. If they're innocent we must leave
them in their innocence. And if they're not----"

"If they're not?"

"Well, we must leave them in _that_."

Jerrold laughed. But he was not in the least amused.

iii

He went down to Wyck the next day; he couldn't wait till the day after.

Not that he had the smallest hope of Anne now. Even if his mother's
suspicion were unfounded, she had made it sufficiently clear to him that
Anne was necessary to Colin; and, that being so, the chances were that
Colin cared for her. In these matters his mother was not such a fool as
to be utterly mistaken. On every account, therefore, he must be prepared
to give Anne up. He couldn't take her away from Colin, and he wouldn't
if he could. It was his own fault. What was done was done six years ago.
He should have loved Anne then.

Going down in the train he thought of her, a little girl with short
black hair, holding a black-and-white rabbit against her breast, a
little girl with a sweet mouth ready for kisses, who hung herself round
his neck with sudden, loving arms. A big girl with long black hair tied
in an immense black bow, a girl too big for kisses. A girl sitting in
her room betw