"What, Peg?"

"A terrible accident. It were yesterday afternoon when the winds was so fierce. He was out with the Mounseer. They was on the jetty. 'Twas a foolish place to go when all do know it be special dangerous. He were blown into the sea."

"Both.* . .ofthem?"

"No, only the little one. He were lost... in the sea."

"And Monsieur de la Roche?"

"Well, he could do nothing, you see. It seems he b'ain't no swimmer. Not that he'd have had all that chance if he'd been as fine a life-saver as Jack Pengelly."

"But . . . tell me, Peg. Tell me everything."

"The little body was washed up in the night."

"Dead!"

"Couldn't be no other . . . seeing as he'd been in the sea nigh on ten hours."

"And . . ."

"The Mounseer . . . he's heart-broken, they do say. You see, the little 'un was blown over and he not being able to swim could only run for help. He got hold of Jack Pengelly and he dived in twice. 'Twere like a boiling cauldron, they do say. Mark Biddle went in too. 'Twere no good."

"I must go and see him."

"Mrs. Soady said she reckoned that's what you'd want to do."

Meiisande picked up her cloak and ran downstairs. She heard Mrs. Soady talking as she came into the servants' hall. Mrs. Soady was saying: "Well, that's what I heard, and 'twould seem to be so. Out on the jetty on an afternoon like that! And the little 'un going in and him just running for help. Of course, there's a fortune in it. So perhaps ..."

No! thought Meiisande. No! It's not true.

Mrs. Soady had abruptly stopped talking.

"So, my dear, you have heard the news?"

"Peg told me. You mustn't think ... He wouldn't . . ."

"Oh, 'twas a terrible tragedy. They do say the Mounseer be well nigh heart-broken. Where be going, Mamazel?"

"I'm going to see him. I must see him."

"William will take 'ee in the carriage. I be sure Sir Charles would not say no to that. Bet, you run and tell William."

"Thank you, Mrs. Soady."

"There, my dear, don't 'ee take on. 'Tis the sort of thing that do happen in these terrible storms. There's been many lost on that jetty. A snare it be, and should by rights be roped off on such days."

"What did you mean when you said there was a fortune in it?"

"My dear life! Did I say that? You must have misunderstood me. I just said what a bit of bad fortune, I reckon, and how the Mounseer was heart-broken at what have happened."

Meiisande stared before her. She thought: They will say cruel things about him. Even kind people like Mrs. Soady will believe those cruel things about him.

Mrs. Soady looked at Mr. Meaker and shook her head. There were times, thought Mrs. Soady, when silence was a virtue. Least said was soonest mended. She didn't like this. She didn't like it at all; and she had taken the little Mamazel under her wing and would protect her from the wickedness of the world.

176 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

Bet came in to say that the carriage was waiting, and hastily Melisande ran out to it.

The journey seemed to take hours. She pictured it all . . . the two of them battling against that violent wind. Had the boy asked to go out on to the jetty ? Or had Leon suggested it ? No, Leon would not suggest it. He would have been persuaded. If I had gone . . . if only I had been there, she thought, this might not have happened.

She looked through the carriage windows at the smugly smiling sea. It was like a monster who had had his fill, who had brought tragedy, and having shown his power was content to be still and gentle for a while. The houses looked fresh in the morning light. The well-washed tiles gleamed blue and green in the pale sunlight; the moisture still glistened about the pisky-pows.

When she reached the house, Mrs. Clark took her to Leon's room and left them there. "Comfort him," she whispered; "he's in a sad way."

So, Melisande went to him unceremoniously and, seeing his haggard face, held out her arms to him. He came to her and they embraced. Then he held her at arms' length.

"So you have heard."

"Oh, L£on . . . please . . . please don't look like that. It's terrible. But we'll grow away from it . . . together."

He shook his head. "I can never grow away from it."

"You will. Of course you will. It is because it is so near that it seems overwhelming."

"I was there, Melisande. I was there."

"I know. I have heard."

His face was dark and bitter. "What else have you heard?"

She caught her breath. "What else? Why, nothing. Just what has happened."

"You cannot hide it, Melisande, though it is like you to try. You know what they will say, what they are already saying. You have heard. I see it in your face."

"I have heard nothing," she lied.

"It's a brave lie. But you are brave. At the moment you are sorry for me. Pity overwhelms you. But the brave despise cowards, and you see one before you now."

She took him by the arm and looked up into his face. "It is terrible . . . doubly terrible because you were there. But there was nothing you could do, Leon. There was nothing else you could do but what you did."

"I could have plunged in," he said fiercely.

"But you cannot swim."

"I could have tried. Who knows? At such times men can make superhuman efforts, can't they? I might have saved him."

"You couldn't. You did the only thing possible. You brought Jack Pengelly to the spot. Jack knows the coast . . . knows the sea. He's a strong swimmer. He has saved lives before. What you did— though it might not have been dramatic—was the wise, the sensible thing."

"You are trying to comfort me."

"Of course I am trying to comfort you. What else could I do? You need comfort. You have lost a dearly beloved child."

He said ironically: "And gained a fortune."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth. You know the terms of my cousin's will. It seems they are general knowledge. Do you think I don't know from the way people look at me! Raoul is gone . . . and they are saying that I killed him."

"That's nonsense. Nobody shall say that. It's a stupid thing to say. Everybody knows how you cared for him, how you spoilt him with your devotion and your care."

"So that I allowed him to go on to the jetty . . . and to his death."

"He was so self-willed. He always did what he wanted. I can picture it . . . exactly as it happened. You said, Don't go; and he said, I will. I can picture it so clearly. I knew him and I know you, Leon. Leon, if we are going to be happy, there must be no bitterness."

"So we are going to be happy?"

"You asked me to marry you, remember, and I accepted. Do you wish to withdraw that proposal?"

He said quietly: "So . . . you would marry me now. You said we did not know each other very well. You said we must get to know each other before we married. I said we must do it quickly. This is the quickest way to improve our knowledge of each other. You have discovered a coward. I have not discovered anything. I always knew that you would be loyal to lost causes. You would give your allegiance to the weak who need you."

"No, Leon, no\ You are so unhappy. Of course you are unhappy. Do not let us add to that unhappiness."

"There will always be gossip about me, Melisande. Everywhere I go, those people who know me and my position will wonder. That is how it will be."