"Bobby, look after him."
But Bobby who had heard by that time what Peter had to say shut his mouth
tight. Then at last:
"Our friend Cardillac has a good deal to answer for," and left Alice to
make what she could out of it.
Meanwhile up in Bobby's dusty old room, called by courtesy "The Study" but
having little evidence of literature about it save an edition of
Whyte-Melville and a miscellaneous collection of Yellow-backs, Peter had
poured out his soul:
"Bobby, I feel as though I'd just been set up with my back against the wall
for every one to make shies at. Everything's going wrong--everything. The
ground's crumbling from under my feet. First it's young Stephen, then it's
Clare, then my book fails (don't let's humbug--you know it's an utter
failure) then I quarrel with Cards, then that damned woman--" he stopped at
the thought of Mrs. Rossiter and drove his hands together. Then he went on
more quietly. "It's like fighting in a fog, Bobby. There's the thing I want
somewhere, just beside me--I want Clare, Clare as she used to be when we
were first married--but I can't get at her and yet, through it all, I don't
know what it is that stops me.
"I know I hadn't thought of her enough--with the book and Stephen and
everything. Cards told me that pretty straight--but now I've seen all that
and I'm ready to do anything--anything if she'll only love me again.
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