“Unfaithful, he said.”

“Yes. But it couldn’t be proved, could it?”

“Sordid, all of it. I mean to say, he’s at war. You’d think she could put aside her personal feelings and remember that.”

I turned and went indoors. I remembered too vividly Lieutenant Banner at Forward Aid Station No. 3, dying of his wounds and saying in a whisper that held a world of despair because time had run out, “She won’t have to go through the divorce now, will she? She’ll be a widow instead. I’ve made it easy for him, whoever he is. He’ll step into my shoes without a qualm. But if he mistreats her, by God, I’ll come back and haunt him!”

I shivered as I remembered his vehemence, but it had cost him his last breath, and he was gone. I wondered sometimes if Mrs. Banner’s new husband had ever looked over his shoulder and listened for a footstep.

The thought followed me into sleep.

The next morning I took my pride and my courage in my hands and wrote the letter to London.

I put the direction on the envelope, took it to the front desk for stamps, and when they offered to put it in the post bag for me, I thanked them and said no.

For in spite of everything, I felt that I was betraying Simon.

I paced the veranda before lunch and after tea, and happened to see Mrs. Campbell leave the hotel, the manager himself seeing her into her hired car. Had the whispers been too much for her?

Two days later I scolded myself for my reluctance to post that envelope. My parents would be returning to Eastbourne shortly, and I would surely lose my nerve altogether once they were there to persuade me in person. I was on my way down to Reception to see to it personally when I met Simon himself just coming through the hotel door.

It had been raining somewhere along the road, for the shoulders of his coat were wet. His face was grim, and I suddenly had a premonition of bad news.