“Since your father died he’s been so—so sort of solitary,” she tried to explain. “He counts on me. I’m left over from the old days. I listen to him. I always have. He’s one of the last romantics, George, and nobody listens to them these days.”

“Well, I asked for that one!” Hilary admitted. “And I got it! Tell me more.”

“Are you in love with him?” demanded George, coming after her, so that she turned to face him, at bay against the grand piano. George was in for it now, and he felt a cad, and all those things, but in a way he was glad too that the thing had got out of hand. He couldn’t stop now, he was going to the bottom of it, and the hell with everything. After all, it was Alice’s life too, as well as his own. Alice was not as young as she had been, dash it all, even if she did come in from the hairdresser’s fit to dazzle a man entirely, smelling like flowers, and looking as though she’d break if you squeezed her. Alice wouldn’t break. Not with that figure.... “Are you?” he demanded again, as she didn’t answer, and his neck had got rather red.

“Are you, Alice?” insisted Hilary softly.

“I was.” She hesitated. “I—could have been. Oh, don’t let’s talk about it!”

“Yes, we will talk about it!” said George obstinately and seized her by the elbows, and then, having gone so far, seemed a little at a loss.

“That’s the stuff, George,” Hilary encouraged him promptly. “You have it out with her. I want to know where I am!”

“I suppose I’m not a romantic,” George began hesitantly, “but I want you to be in love with me, Alice. I want it damnably. It was always Hilary with you, I knew that, and like a fool I stood back. My kid brother— and so on! Learned it at school. Well, I’ve finished with that. I’ve outgrown it, shall we say. Anyway, the kid brother stuff was tommyrot—Hilary was old before he was born! Able to take care of himself. Self-sufficient!”

“You’re wrong,” she said quietly. “That’s just his shell.”

“Shell be damned!” His hold on her tightened cruelly. “It’s my turn now. I want you. Alice—you’re wasting your life. I want you!”

“Don’t bully the girl, George,” Hilary advised him.

“I’ve let Hilary count on me,” she was arguing gently. “He’s confided in me, always. I’ve written him letters. I’m not going to let him down now.”

“And what about me?” he asked with sudden humility.

“You?” She tried to laugh it off. “You’ll be all right! You’ve heaps of friends. But Hilary’s all alone. He needs me.”