In the cool twilight of that evening June and I began our journey back
to town. Taplow drove us to Haslemere station in his dilapidated Ford
car, and Terry sat with June in the rear seat. All the way she was
talking and laughing, and he was evidently saying things that made her
laugh. It was an aspect of him that I had never seen before, but when
June and I were alone in our compartment she made me realize that I had.
"Do you remember years ago," she said, "when he used to come round to
the End House and bend glass tubing and mix sulphuric acid with ammonium
carbonate and things like that? I was a child then, and he always tried
to amuse me.... I'm afraid he still thinks I'm a child."
She was pensive for a while, and then went on quietly: "Of course you've
kept your word about not telling him. I knew you would. But I've an idea
you haven't even _wanted_ to tell him. You agree with me, don't you,
that it's better to let him keep his illusion?"
"I quite see that it would be very difficult and unpleasant to tell
him," I answered. "But, on the other hand, I don't see how he can live
very long without finding out."
"Why?"
"Because, for one thing, your father intends to push on with this legal
action against Karelsky."
"Then we must persuade him to drop it."
"Do you think _you_ can persuade him?"
And she answered: "Yes, I think I can." So quietly, so serenely; there
were no limits, apparently, to the things she felt she could do.
"Very well, then," I said, and we left the matter at that. It was dark
when we reached Waterloo. She took the tube, and as we shook hands gave
me her final message.
"You're on my side," she said. "Somehow I _know_ you are. My idea, _our_
idea, in fact--is that Terry mustn't be told. It might just smash him if
he realized.... He mustn't know, and we mustn't let anybody tell him.
Just let things go on quietly for a while, and the danger will be over."
"Masterly inactivity?" I suggested, and she answered with a smile:
"Yes, if you like. And _I'll_ persuade father."