ficult to say which of the two looked the most
forsaken, the most left to himself. Only Thomas hadn't yet learnt to
laugh, and Peter had. He laughed now, softly and not happily.

"It _has_ been rather a ghastly fiasco, hasn't it," he said. "Absurd, you
know, too, in a way. I thought it was all working out so nicely, Thomas
coming and everything. But no. It wasn't working out nicely at all.
Things don't as a rule, do they?"

There was a new note of dreariness in his voice; a note that had perhaps
been kept out of it of set purpose for a long time. Now there seemed at
the moment no particular reason to keep it out any more, though fresh
reasons would arrive, no doubt, very soon; and Thomas when waking was a
reason in himself. But in this dim hour between two roads, this hour of
relaxation of tension in the shadowy firelight, when Thomas slept and
only Peggy listened, Peter, having fallen crashing through floor after
floor of his pleasant house of life, till he was nearly at the bottom,
looked up at all the broken floors and sighed.

Peggy's arm was comfortingly about him. To her he was always a little,
brittle, unlucky boy, as she had first seen him long ago.

"Never you mind, Peterkin. There's a good time coming, I do believe.
She'll come back, perhaps; who knows? Vyvian wouldn't do for long, not
even for Rhoda. Besides, you may be sure he'll throw her off soon, and
then she'll want to come back to you and Tommy. I wouldn't say that to
any other man, because, of course, no other man would have her back; but
I do believe, Peterkin, that you would, wouldn't you now? I expect you'd
smile and say, 'Oh, come in, you're just in time for tea and to see me
bath Thomas,' and not another word about it."

"Probably," said Peter. "There wouldn't be much to say, would there?
But she won't come back; I know that. Even if she leaves him she won't.
Rhoda's horribly proud really, you know. She'd sooner sweep a crossing,
or trim hats or something, than come near us again. I don't know what to
hope about it. I suppose one must hope they'll go on together, as Rhoda
seems to like him as he is; but it's an awful thought.... She's right
that we never understood each other. I couldn't, you know, bear to think
of spending even one day alone with Vyvian. I should be sick, like
Thomas. The mere sight of his hair is enough, and his hand with that
awful ring on it. I--I simply draw the line at him. _Why_ does Rhoda
care for him? How can she?" Pe