She stood leaning against the chimney-piece in the attitude he knew,
an attitude of long-limbed, insolent, adolescent grace that gave her
the advantage. Her eyes disdained their pathos. They looked at him
with laughter under their dropped lids.
"How funny we are," she said, "when we know all the time we couldn't
really do a caddish thing like that."
He smiled queerly.
"I suppose we couldn't."
* * * * *
He too rose and faced her.
"Do you know what this means?" he said. "It means that I've got to
clear out of this."
"Oh, Steven----" The brave light in her face went out.
"You wouldn't go away and leave me?"
"God knows I don't want to leave you, Gwenda. But we can't go on like
this. How can we?"
"I could."
"Well, I can't. That's what it means to me. That's what it means to a
man. If we're going to be straight we simply mustn't see each other."
"Do you mean for always? That we're never to see each other again?"
"Yes, if it's to be any good."
"Steven, I can bear anything but that. It _can't_ mean that."
"I tell you it's what it means for me. There's no good talking about
it. You've seen what I've been like tonight."
"This? This is nothing. You'll get over this. But think what it would
mean to me."
"It would be hard, I know."
"Hard?"
"Not half so hard as this."
"But I can bear this. We've been so happy. We can be happy still."
"This isn't happiness.
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