I
WE found out, June and I, by the sheerest accident. At the end of that
week she rang me up and asked if I would care to go with her to
Hindhead. Some other engagement had fallen through at the last minute,
and she had an afternoon and evening unexpectedly free. "We can take the
two-seater car," she said, "and we'll just stop at the hotel for tea and
then come back."
We went. The sunny ride through Richmond and Guildford and over the
Hog's Back (the high, windy way that June and I always preferred) was
especially entrancing on that Saturday afternoon. I don't think either
of us was very much surprised to find Terry out when we reached the
hotel. On such a day of sunshine and cool wind there would have been
something wrong with him if he'd been in. Taplow told us that he'd gone
for a walk and hadn't left word when he'd return. And then, with the
curious Taplow mixture of frankness and discretion, came the remark: "As
a matter of fact, sir, Mrs. Severn called this morning, and they went
out together."
_As a matter of fact_! To him, perhaps, it was only that--a fact that
might possibly interest us, or possibly might not. His casualness,
anyhow, helped us to curb our own astonishment. I managed to order tea,
and then June and I sat together in the little window alcove of the
sitting-room, each waiting for the other to express the surprise we
felt. But curiously, perhaps, neither of us did. We both pretended that
Helen's visit was nothing out of the ordinary; Taplow had set us the
example. When he brought our tea he said: "They'll have done quite a
tidy bit of walking, I daresay, sir. Lovely weather for walking--not too
hot, as you might say, sir, and not too cold either."