Thirty-five
With his last words, Colonel Race had swung away and left us. I stood star-ing after him. Harry¹’s voice recalled me to myself.
“Anne, forgive me, say you forgive me.”
He took my hand in his and almost mechanically I drew it away.
“Why did you deceive me?”
“I don’t know that I can make you understand. I was afraid of all thatsort of thing—the power and fascination² of wealth. I wanted you to carefor me just for myself—for the man I was—without ornaments³ and trap-pings.”
“You mean you didn’t trust me?”
“You can put it that way if you like, but it isn’t quite true. I’d become em-bittered, suspicious—always prone⁴ to look for ulterior motives—and itwas so wonderful to be cared for in the way you cared for me.”
“I see,” I said slowly. I was going over in my own mind the story he hadtold me. For the first time I noted⁵ discrepancies⁶ in it which I had disregar-ded—an assurance of money, the power to buy back the diamonds of Nad-ina, the way in which he had preferred to speak of both men from thepoint of view of an outsider. And when he had said “my friend” he hadmeant not Eardsley, but Lucas. It was Lucas, the quiet fellow, who hadloved Nadina so deeply.
“How did it come about?” I asked.
“We were both reckless—anxious to get killed. One night we exchangedidentification discs—for luck! Lucas was killed the next day—blown topieces.”
I shuddered⁷.
“But why didn’t you tell me now? This morning? You couldn’t havedoubted my caring for you by this time?”
“Anne, I didn’t want to spoil it all. I wanted to take you back to the is-land. What’s the good of money? It can’t buy happiness. We’d have beenhappy on the island. I tell you I’m afraid of that other life—it nearly rottedme through once.”

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