She had brought into the room with her a long envelope, and rather absently she took out from it an enclosure of papers. "I got this to-day from the lawyers," she said. "It's about my darling's will, I think. I wonder if you would help me to understand it, I am so stupid at figures." She slid a little closer to him, leaning her hand on his shoulder and looking over him as he read. The document required, as a matter of fact, very little exercise of intelligence. The house in Surrey where they had spent the week of the honeymoon was hers; and so was a very decent income of L15,000 a year, left to her without any condition whatever for her life; it was hers absolutely. The disposition of the rest of his fortune depended on whether she had a child. The details of that were not given: his lawyer only informed her what was hers. She hid her face on the hand that rested on Archie's shoulder. "Oh, Archie, I can never go back to that house," she said, "at least not for a long time. It would be tearing open the old wound again." "Yes, I understand that," said he, with another pressure of his fingers. And, thinking of the L15,000 a year without conditions, he had a wild temptation to console her further by quoting-- "Let us grieve not, only find Strength in what remains behind." But he refrained: though, apparently, there was no limit to Helena's insincerity, there might be some in her acceptance of the insincerity of others. "Oh, you do understand me so well," she said. "And, Archie, I want to ask a horribly selfish thing of you, but I can't help it. I am all alone now, except for you. You won't go out to the war, will you? I don't think I could bear it if you did." It was quite easy for him to promise that, but an allusion to the misconception he might incur made his acquiescence sound difficult and noble.