"Don't be an idiot. It
doesn't matter all that much. Exams are not everything. Everyone knows
that. We'll find something else. If your people are too beastly, you'll
come and share with us. I'll see you through--it'll be all right."
But a baffling change came over Cosgrave. He shook himself free. He
stood upright, looking at Robert with a kind of stony dignity.
"Where is she?"
"Who?"
"Connie. She sent you, didn't she?"
"Yes. We met----"
"Where is she?"
"I don't know. Gone to the theatre probably."
"Isn't she coming back?"
"Not now."
"Didn't she send a message?"
"She said--it was finish between you. She's a little rotter, Cosgrave."
"She made me laugh," Cosgrave said simply. "I don't mind about the
exam.--or about anything now. I suppose I was bound to fail. But I was
so jolly happy. I'd never had a good time like that. It's all over now.
She doesn't care. She said she couldn't be tied up with a lot of
trouble. That's what I am. A lot of trouble. It was all
bunkum--make-believe--to think I could be anything else."
So it wasn't his failure. It wasn't even the loss of a good-for-nothing
chorus-girl. It was a loss far more subtle. The recognition of it lamed
Robert Stonehouse, knocked the power out of him, as though someone had
struck and paralysed a vital nerve centre. He could only stammer
futilely:
"She's not worth bothering about."
Cosgrave slumped back into his chair.
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