"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.
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 between her white bed and the window with a little black cat in
her arms. Her platted hair lay in a thick black rope down her back. He
remembered how he had kissed her; he remembered the sliding of her sweet
face against his, the pressure of her darling head against his shoulder,
the salt taste of her tears. It was inconceivable that he had not loved
Anne then. Why hadn't he? Why had he let his infernal cowardice stop
him? Eliot had loved her.
Then he remembered Colin. Little Col-Col running after them down the
field, calling to them to take him with them; Colin's hands playing;
Colin's voice singing _Lord Rendal_. He tried to think of Queenie, the
woman Colin had married. He had no image of her. He could see nothing
but Colin and Anne.
She was there alone at the station to meet him. She came towards him
along the platform. Their eyes looked for each other. Something choked
his voice back. She spoke first.
"Jerrold------"
"Anne." A strange, thick voice deep down in his throat.
Their hands clasped one into the other, close and strong.
"Colin wanted to come, but I wouldn't let him. It would have been too
much for him. He might have cried or something ... You mustn't mind if
he cries when he sees you. He isn't quite right yet."
"No, but he's better."
"Ever so much better. He can do things on the farm now. He looks after
the lambs and the chickens and the pigs. It's good for him to have
something to do."