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.
"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 what?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I don't suppose she'll live with Colin
after--"
"After _what_?"
"Well, after Colin's living with Anne."
Jerrold stiffened. He felt the blood rushing to his heart, betraying
him. His face was God only knew what awful colour.
"You don't mean to say they--"
"I don't mean to say I blame them, poor darlings. What were they to do?"
"But" (he almost stammered it) "you don't know--you can't know--it
doesn't follow."
"Well, of course, my dear, they haven't _told_ me. You don't shout these
things from the house-tops. But what is one to think? There they are;
there they've been for the last five months, living together at the
Farm, absolutely alone. Anne won't leave him. She won't have anybody
there. If you tell her it's not proper she laughs in your face. And
Colin swears he won't go back to Queenie. What _is_ one to think?"