e years of India
and a year of war. He remembered the child Anne who played with him, the
girl Anne who went about with him, and the girl woman he had found in
her room at dawn. He tried to join on to her the image of the Anne that
Eliot wrote to him about, who had gone out to the war and come back from
it to look after Colin. He was in love with this image of her and ready
to be in love again with the real Anne. He would go back now and find
her and make her care for him.

There had been a time, after his father's death, when he had tried to
make himself think that Anne had never cared for him, because he didn't
want to think she cared. Now that he did want it he wasn't sure.

Not so sure as he was about little Maisie Durham. He knew Maisie cared.
That was why she had gone out to India. It was also why she had been
sent back again. He was afraid it might be why the Durhams had asked him
to stay with them as soon as he had leave. If that was so, he wasn't
sure whether he ought to stay with them, seeing that he didn't care for
Maisie. But since they had asked him, well, he could only suppose that
the Durhams knew what they were about. Perhaps Maisie had got over it.
The little thing had lots of sense.

It hadn't been his fault in the beginning, Maisie's caring. Afterwards,
perhaps, in India, when he had let himself see more of her than he would
have done if he had known she cared; but that, again, was hardly his
fault since he didn't know. You don't see these things unless you're on
the lookout for them, and you're not on the lookout unless you're a
conceited ass. Then when he did see it, when he couldn't help seeing,
after other people had seen and made him see, it had been too late.

But this was five years ago, and of course Maisie had got over it. There
would be somebody else now. Perhaps he would go down to Yorkshire.
Perhaps he wouldn't.

At this point Jerrold realised that it depended on Anne.

But before he saw Anne he would have to see his mother. And before he
saw his mother his mother had seen Anne and Colin.

ii

And while Anne in Gloucestershire was answering Jerrold's letter,
Jerrold sat in the drawing-room of the house in Montpelier Square and
talked to his mother. They talked about Colin and Anne.

"What's Colin's wife doing?" he said.

"Queenie? She's driving a field ambulance car in Belgium."

"Why isn't she looking after Colin?"

"That isn't in Queenie's line. Besides--"

"Besides wha