“He nodded, and I could see, from the sudden paling of the flesh, how tightly her fingers were pressing upon his. It seemed to me that at the moment of separation they had won back to the ecstasy of their first embraces: that they were nearer now than they had been for many months. “I rose from my chair. “‘Good-bye, Margaret, my dear,’ I said. ‘Good-bye!’ “She said nothing, but the eyes that met mine were dim and very tender. “And as I walked down the street I pondered the contradictions, the inequalities of life. Only a few minutes ago she was praying to be rid of him, and now she could ask for nothing better than to be for all time within his arms.” * * * * * He paused; for comment; for encouragement. “And the sequel?” I said. He smiled. “Three days later,” he said, “I met her at a friend’s house. “‘So it’s over?’ I said to her. “She nodded. “‘And have you any idea who wrote the letter?’ “She made no answer, but across her lips and in her eyes flickered a curious smile, a smile that was part cunning, part pride, part triumph. “‘I wonder,’ I continued, ‘if it was a man or a woman. A woman more likely. Constance, perhaps, or Mrs. Berridge, or Marjorie Godwin--Marjorie was once in love with him, so they said, it might have been she.’ “‘I shouldn’t think so!’ And the curious smile deepened, grew more baffling, more evocative, more triumphant. “Suddenly I had a wave of intuition; our eyes met in the glance of two conspirators who share a secret. “‘Margaret,’ I said, ‘you wrote that letter.’ “The curious smile became infinitely suggestive. ‘But, my dear,’ she said, ‘of course.’” XIV It must make good drinking, that after-battle wine! We only play football, I sometimes think, for the sake of that hour of indolence and exhaustion, when we lie back in comfort after a hot bath, stiff and tired, to fight the afternoon’s struggle over again. It is good to get our innings over early and sit in the pavilion with a pint pot at the elbow while we watch our successors battle in the sunlight, and if we happen to have made a few, the world is a very companionable spot. It is worth while taking trouble out there in the open if only for that after-sense of security and content. There is no temptation then to grumble and feel jealous of those whose wickets are still intact and whose innings is in front of them. And it is worth our while for the sake of those fifteen years or so, when we shall stand above the battle, to make the most of our youth while it is with us. If we realise ourselves, if we live fully now, we shall be more sociable, more generous, more kindhearted when the arteries begin to thicken. We shall be able to look the younger generation in the face. We shall welcome it as a host should, courteously. If we are wise now, or rather if we make a wisdom of our indifference, we will come to find our last ten years the happiest of all.