He
had known something of Lewis's imaginary self-upbraidings, and he was
prepared for them, but he was not prepared for the grey and wretched
face in the lee of the pinewood. A sudden suspicion that Lewis had been
guilty of some real dishonour flashed across his mind for the moment,
only to be driven out with scorn.
"Lewie, my son, what the deuce is wrong with you?" he cried.
The other looked at him with miserable eyes.
"I am beginning to find out my rottenness."
Wratislaw laughed in spite of himself. "What a fool to go making
psychological discoveries on such a day! Is it all over the little
misfortune at the pool?"
Tragedy grew in Lewis's eyes. "Don't laugh, old chap. You don't know
what I did. I let her fall into the water, and then I stood staring and
let another man--the other man--save her."
"Well, and what about that? He had a better chance than you. You
shouldn't grudge him his good fortune."
"Good Lord, man, you don't think it's that that's troubling me! I felt
murderous, but it wasn't on his account."
"Why not?" asked the older man drily. "You love the girl, and he's in
the running with you. What more?"
Lewis groaned. "How can I talk about loving her when my love is such a
trifling thing that it doesn't nerve me to action? I tell you I love
her body and soul. I live for her. The whole world is full of her.
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