don't you? You met at dinner here, just before the holidays.'
We shook hands. I felt so shy that I could think of nothing to say, but Mrs Strickland came to my rescue. She asked me what I had been doing with myself during the summer, and with this help I managed to make some conversation till tea was brought in. The Colonel asked for a whisky-and-soda.
'You'd better have one too, Amy,' he said.
'No; I prefer tea.'
This was the first suggestion that anything untoward had happened. I took no notice, and did my best to engage Mrs Strickland in talk. The Colonel, still standing in front of the fireplace, uttered no word. I wondered how soon I could decently take my leave, and I asked myself why on earth Mrs Strickland had allowed me to come. There were no flowers, and various knick-knacks, put away during the summer, had not been replaced; there was something cheerless and stiff about the room which had always seemed so friendly; it gave you an odd feeling, as though someone were lying dead on the other side of the wall. I finished tea.
'Will you have a cigarette?' asked Mrs Strickland.
She looked about for the box, but it was not to be seen.
'I'm afraid there are none.'
Suddenly she burst into tears, and hurried from the room.
I was startled. I suppose now that the lack of cigarettes, bought as a rule by her husband, forced him back upon her recollection, and the new feeling that the small comforts she was used to were missing gave her a sudden pang. She realized that the old life was gone and done with. It was impossible to keep up our social pretences any longer.
'I dare say you'd like me to go', I said to the Colonel, getting up.
'I suppose you've heard that blackguard has deserted her', he cried explosively.
I hesitated.
'You know how people gossip', I answered. 'I was vaguely told that something was wrong.'
'He's bolted. He's gone off to Paris with a woman. He's left Amy without a penny.'
'I'm awfully sorry', I said, not knowing what else to say.
The Colonel gulped down his whisky. He was a tall, lean man of fifty, with a drooping moustache and grey hair. He had pale blue eyes and a weak mouth. I remembered from my previous meeting with him that he had a foolish face, and was proud of the fact that for the ten years before he left the army he had played polo three days a week.
'I don't suppose Mrs Strickland wants to be bothered with me just now', I said. 'Will you tell her how sorry I am? If there's anything I can do, I shall be delighted to do it.'
He took no notice of me.
'I don't know what's to become of her. And then there are the children. Are they going to live on air? Seventeen years.'
'What about seventeen years?'
'They've been married', he snapped. 'I never liked him. Of course he was my brother-in-law, and I made the best of it. Did you think him a gentleman? She ought never to have married him.'
'Is it absolutely final?'
'There's only one thing for her to do, and that's to divorce him. That's what I was telling her when you came in. "Fire in with your petition, my dear Amy," I said. "You owe it to yourself and you owe it to the children." He'd better not let me catch sight of him. I'd thrash him within an inch of his life.'
I could not help thinking that Colonel MacAndrew might have some difficulty in doing this, since Strickland had struck me as a hefty fellow, but I did not say anything. It is always distressing when outraged morality does not possess the strength of arm to administer direct chastisement on the sinner. I was making up my mind to another attempt at going when Mrs Strickland came back. She had dried her eyes and powdered her nose.
'I'm sorry I broke down', she said. 'I'm glad you didn't go away.'
She sat down. I did not at all know what to say. I felt a certain shyness at referring to matters which were no concern of mine. I did not then know the besetting sin of woman, the passion to discuss her private affairs with anyone who is willing to listen. Mrs Strickland seemed