"I'm not a moralist; anything but a moralist, y'know. But as a man of the
world, with some experience, I knew that couldn't be. So I told her the
truth."

"The truth?" Peter wondered.

"Yes, boy, the truth. The only truth that mattered to Lucy. That you
couldn't be happy that way. That you loved Denis too much to be happy
that way. When I said it, she knew it. 'Deed, I believe she'd known it
before, in her heart. So she wrote to you, and ended that foolish idea.
You know now that she was right, I think?"

"I knew it then. I was just going to telegraph to her not to come when
I got her letter. No, I didn't know she was right; but I knew we couldn't
do it. I didn't know it for myself, either; I had to be told. When I was
told, I knew it."

"Ah." Lord Evelyn looked at the pale face, that had suddenly taken a look
of age, as of one who looks back into a past bitterness.

"Ah." He looked in silence for a moment, then said, "You've been through
a bad time, Peter."

Peter's face twitched suddenly, and he answered nothing.

"All those months," said Lord Evelyn, and his high, unsteady voice shook
with a curious tremor, "all that summer, you were in hell."

Peter gave no denial.