n if
I tried, and Fowler said he could but held rather not, and we
walked off, but as I remarked to Fowler afterwards the funny
thing was that it was true. I don't see anything romantic in the
situation. It strikes me as immoral and disgusting. But Hyde
wouldn't take a narrow view like mine. He has to live up to his
tailor."

"Oh, really, Rose!" Val gave his unwilling laugh. "You're like
Isabel, who can't forgive him for sporting a diamond monogram."

"No, but I'm interested. I know Jack's limitations, and Jimmy's,
and yours, but Hyde's I don't know, and he intrigues me," said
Rowsley, lighting a cigarette with his agile brown fingers.
"Now I'll tell you the way he really strikes me. He's not a bad
sort: I shouldn't wonder if there were more decency in him than
he'd care to get credit for. But I should think," he looked up
at Val with his clear speculative hazel eyes, "that he's never in
his life taken a thrashing. He's always had pots of money and
superb health. I know nothing, of his private concerns, but at
all events he isn't married, and from what Jack says he's sought
safety in numbers. No wife, no kids, no near relations--that
means none of the big wrenches. No: I don't believe Hyde's ever
taken a licking in his life."

"You sound as if you would like to administer one."

"Only by way of a literary experiment," said Rowsley with his
mischievous grin. He was of the new Army, Val of the old: it was
a constant source of mild surprise to Val that his brother read
books about philosophy, and psychology, and sociology, of which
pre-war Sandhurst had never heard: read poetry too, not Tennyson
or Shakespeare, but slim modern volumes with brown covers and
wide margins: and wrote verses now and then, and sent them to
orange-coloured magazines or annual anthologies, at which Val
gazed from a respectful distance. "I don't owe him any grudge.
I'm not Bernard's dry-nurse!"

Val turned a leaf of his paper, but he was not reading it.

"I rather wish you hadn't said all this, Rowsley. It does no
good: not even if it were true."

"Val, if it weren't such a warm evening I'd get up and punch your
head. You're a little too bright and good, aren't you? Yvonne
Bendish says it, and she's Laura's sister."

"Yvonne would say anything. I wish you had given her a hint to
hold her tongue. She may do most pestilent mischief if she sets
this gossip going."

"It'll set itself going," said Rowsley. "And, though I