It was so with Durrance as he thought himself backwards into
those days when he had walked on his own path, heedless of the people
with whom he came in touch, never dreaming that they were at that moment
influencing his life right up to his dying day. Feversham's disgrace and
ruin, Ethne's years of unhappiness, the wearying pretences of the last
few months, all had their origin years ago when Mrs. Adair, to keep
Durrance to herself, threw Feversham and Ethne into each other's
company.
"I succeeded," continued Mrs. Adair. "You told me that I had succeeded
one morning in the Row. How glad I was! You did not notice it, I am
sure. The next moment you took all my gladness from me by telling me you
were starting for the Soudan. You were away three years. They were not
happy years for me. You came back. My husband was dead, but Ethne was
free. Ethne refused you, but you went blind and she claimed you. You can
see what ups and downs have fallen to me. But these months here have
been the worst."
"I am very sorry," said Durrance. Mrs. Adair was quite right, he
thought. There was indeed something to be said on her behalf. The world
had gone rather hardly with her.
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