‘Can I not leave you for a day without you getting yourself into trouble?’ ‘Imbecile,’ she uttered faintly. ‘A devil is just what you are. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. ‘Now I see why you’re marrying this woman, Hilary. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill.
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