Anne Douglas Sedgwick

“ Giles's back was turned to her as he sat before the fire. She could not see his face as he went on: “Yes, Toppie. They were engaged. They loved each other. You've seen what Toppie feels about him now. He is her past and he is her present; and her future, too. There's nobody in the world for her but him. Well. That's it. Can you imagine Toppie, while he was away in France, seeing as much of another man as Owen saw of your mother?”
Alix sat staring at the back of Giles's head. “She was not alone; in a strange country. Why should he not find a little peace and happiness with a friend?” ”

“ How could he help caring for her? How can one govern one's love for people? I do not mean that he was right. But he had always known Toppie, had he not? While Maman was something quite strange to him. And one thinks most, perhaps, of what is strange. Oh, I do not forget Toppie. But it would not have been to keep him true to Toppie, if she had sent him away.”
“She is very beautiful,” Giles repeated, almost dully; as if that were all he could find to say.
“Oh, Giles, if you could only know her!” said Alix. ”

“ She had the sensation of drowning, yet of keeping calm while she drowned, resourceful, even as she measured her calamity, and she heard her own voice speaking from far above her it seemed—while beneath Mrs. Bradley's eyes, beneath Giles's, her thoughts raced swiftly, swiftly;—“Yes; we should, of course, have seen him, but we were away; we were away in the country at that time.”
“At Cannes, I suppose,” said Mrs. Bradley. “What a pity for Owen. How lonely he must have been. He hadn't time to come home, you see; only the two days. ”

“ How can I tell?” said Alix from between her hands. “It is sometimes necessary; if someone one loves is concerned.”
“Well,” Giles reflected on her proviso and, apparently, accepted it, “I can know you'll want to tell me the truth, can't I?”
“Yes. Oh, yes, Giles.”
“Good. I believe you'll come to see it's always better. Even in a hateful puzzle like this, perhaps. Well, then, I'll begin. I wasn't straight just now. I can imagine why Owen didn't tell us about those Paris leaves. And I think it best you should be able to imagine it, too. It was because of Toppie.”
“Toppie?” Alix echoed faintly. ”

“ They were all in the drawing-room after dinner—all except Francis and Jack who had gone to bed;—Ruth writing, Rosemary altering a blouse and Giles reading in his accustomed place. Alix sat beside Mrs. Bradley on the sofa, turned sideways while she held a skein of wool for her to wind, and she was never to forget the look of that heather-coloured wool.
“Alix,” said Mrs. Bradley suddenly, “how was it that Owen didn't see you when he went to Paris on leave?—that one leave he had; in February last winter. ”

“ Perhaps I am always angry with you, because of what you think of her. Let me say it now, then. He cared for her most. But if you knew her you would understand; you would not blame her; perhaps you would not blame him so much. ”

“ Has it got a sandy beach?”
“No; it is galets, not sand; not until the tide is low; and Vaudettes is up on the cliff so that one has a long climb down to get to it. But the village is very pretty.”
“Most French seaside villas are such hideous gimcrack things; worse than ours, I always think. Is your house an old one?”
“Yes; quite old; quite unspoiled. There are no modern villas yet at Vaudettes.”
Giles got up.
“Are you going to bed, dear?” Mrs. Bradley asked. ”