be easier to put the thought of her aside. She's intellectual, she's—"
"I should say she is cold."
"You're wrong. It is I, all my life, who have had a sort of cold sensuality—no tenderness went with my love for a woman. I don't think I had any compassion. No, I'm sure I hadn't." He knit his brows as though recalling past affairs. "But I'm full of compassion for Alayne."
"Does she love you?"
"Yes."
"What about Eden?"
"She had a romantic devotion to him, but it's over."
"Does she know about this?" Maurice lifted his head in the direction of the room above.
"Yes. I only had a glimpse of her in the hall—the house was in an uproar. She had a strange, exalted look as though nothing mattered now."
"I see. What is Piers going to do?"
"Piers is a splendid fellow—tough as an oak. He said to me, 'She's mine; nothing can change that. I'm going to fetch her home.' But I should pity Eden if he got his hands on him."
"They are coming down. Heavens, they were quiet enough! Must I speak to them?"
"No, let the poor young beggars alone."
The two came slowly down the stairs. Like people leaving the scene of a catastrophe, they carried in their eyes the terror of what they had beheld. Their faces were rigid. Piers's mouth was drawn to one side in an expression of disgust. It was like a mask of tragedy. They stood in the wide doorway of the dining room as in a picture framed. Maurice and Renny smiled at them awkwardly, trying to put a decent face on the affair.
