As far as I can see you're
only drunk."
"I know--a little--I'm not accustomed to it--but it's not that, Robert.
Really, it isn't. I'm jolly all--the time--even in the early morning.
Seem to have come back to life from a beastly long way off--all at
once--by special aeroplane. I don't think I've felt like this
since--since----"
"Since Connie Edwards' day," Robert suggested. "But I expect you've
forgotten her."
Cosgrave stared, round-eyed and open-mouthed and foolish.
"Connie----? No--I haven't. You bet I haven't. Often wonder what
became of her. She was a jolly good sort."
"You didn't think so by the time she'd finished with you."
"I was an ass. A giddy, hysterical ass. I didn't understand. Poor
old Connie! She could just swim for herself--but not for both of us.
And I scared her stiff--tying myself round her neck like that."
Stonehouse cut him short.
"Nobody could accuse Mademoiselle Labelle of being a poor swimmer," he
said. (He wondered at the same moment whether there was something
wrong with him. He was so intently conscious of her. He could see her
lounging idly in the big chair opposite, so damnably sure of herself
and amused. He wanted to insult and, if possible, hurt her.)
"You're awfully down on people, Robert. Hard on 'em. Often wonder why
you haven't chucked me off long ago. But that's an old story. You
ought to like her for being able to swim well. It's what you do
yourself.
Pages:
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266