"No. But there are times when I could suppose I'm dead." "Nonsense, man. You're too morbid. Why don't you go for a sea voyage? Pull yourself together, man, and don't brood." Clanwell added: "I'm damned sorry for you--what can I do? Would you like me to come in Lavery's with you for a while? You're not nervous of being alone, are you?" "Oh no. And besides, I shan't be alone. My wife's there." "Of course, of course. Stupid of me. I was for the moment forgetting--forgetting--" "That I was married, eh?" "No, no, not exactly--I had just forgotten--well, you know how even the most obvious things sometimes slip the memory.... Well, here you are. Have you the key? And you'll be all right, eh? Sure? Well, now, take a long rest and get better, won't you? Good night--Good night--sure you're all right? Good night!" Clanwell raced back across the turf to his own House and Speed admitted himself to Lavery's and sauntered slowly down the corridor to his room. Helen was sitting in front of the fire, perfectly still and quiet. He said: "Helen!" "Well!" She spoke without the slightest movement of her head or body. "We've got to go away from Millstead." He wondered how she would take it. It never occurred to him that she was prepared. She answered: "Yes. Mother's been over here to tell me all about it. We're going to Seacliffe in the morning. Catching the 9.5. What were you doing in Pritchard's bedroom?" "Didn't they tell you?" he enquired sarcastically. "How could they? They didn't know. They found you fainting across the bed, and Pritchard said he woke up and found you staring at him." "And you can't guess why I went there?" "I suppose you wanted to ask him if it were true that he and I were going away together." "No, not quite. I wanted to murder him so that it could never be true." "What!" "Yes. What I said." She made no answer, and after a long pause he said: "You're not in love with Pritchard, are you?" She replied sorrowfully: "Not a little bit. In fact, I rather dislike him. You're the only person I love." "When you're not hating me, eh?" "Yes, that's right. When I'm not hating you." Then after a second long pause he suddenly decided to make one last effort for the tranquillising of the future. "Helen," he began pleadingly, "Can't you stop hating me? Is it too late to begin everything afresh? Can't we----" Then he stopped. All the eloquence went out of him suddenly, like the air out of a suddenly pricked balloon. His brain refused to frame the sentences of promise and supplication that he had intended. His brain was tired--utterly tired. He felt he did not care whether Helen stayed with him or not, whether she ran away with Pritchard or not, whether his own relationship with her improved, worsened, or ceased altogether, whether anything in the world happened or did not happen. All he wanted was peace--peace from the eternal torment of his mind.