‘One more thing. Of course I know that whatever he’d done you’d feel just the same towards him, wouldn’t you?...’ ‘I love Roddy ...’ he said, his breath, his whole being struggling in anguish.... ‘I’ve always had him--ever since I can remember ... more to me than a brother ever could have been. But if I thought----’ His voice altered, grew terrible--‘if I thought he’d done you an injury----’ ‘It was nothing he could be blamed for,’ she said slowly, with intense concentration: ‘It was my fault. If I thought it was going to come between you I should be more unhappy than ever. Will you see that it doesn’t?’ ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said in a dead voice. She began to tremble violently. ‘I must go in now, Martin. What shall you do?’ ‘I’ll go straight back. I don’t feel like--seeing Mariella--or any one.’ ‘But don’t you want something to eat?’ ‘No. I’m not hungry.’ It seemed unbearably pathetic that he should not be hungry--he who was always hungry. ‘Good-bye then, Martin.’ ‘Good-bye.’ He took her outstretched hand and clutched it. ‘Judith, if you should want me for anything while you’re abroad--let me know. I’ll come to you. Will you promise?’ ‘I promise, my dear.’ He looked a shade less unhappy. ‘And please let me see you when you come back. I won’t be tiresome; but I must see you sometimes.’ ‘When I come back then, Martin--if you really want to. But by that time you’ll realise what a pig I am.’ He put his arms round her suddenly. ‘Oh, Judith,’ he whispered, ‘can’t you ever ...?’ ‘Martin, can’t you ever not?’ ‘No.’ He laid his head down on her shoulder for a few moments; then straightened himself and said with an effort at cheerfulness: ‘Well, I hope you’ll have a good time.’ ‘I hope you will. But you’re sure to.’ To think he would be with Roddy for weeks, sharing work and talk and jokes and meals--seeing him sleep and wake; while she herself ... never again. If she saw him coming towards her, she must turn back; if she passed him in the street she must look away. ‘Please take care of yourself, Judith.’ She nodded, smiling wearily. He jerked round and went down the steps and she waited for him to turn his head again. But, when he reached the corner, without looking back, he waved his hand in a young quick awkward pretense of jauntiness, and strode on. She stood and saw the fresh garden filling with light and shade; and thought: ‘Poor Martin’s crying’; and shut the door on him and the sun and the screaming of the birds. 8