"Darling, really it's the only thing you can do. Think. If you don't, can't you see how it'll give the show away? She'd wonder what on earth you meant by it. We've got to behave as if nothing had happened. This isn't behaving as if nothing had happened, is it?" "No. You see, it has happened. Oh Jerrold, I wouldn't mind if only we could be straight about it. But it'll mean lying and lying, and I can't bear it. I'd rather go out and tell everybody and face the music." "So would I. But we can't.... Look here, Anne. We don't care a damn what people think. You wouldn't care if we were found out to-morrow----" "I wouldn't. It would be the best thing that could happen to us." "To us, yes. If Maisie divorced me. Then we could marry. It would be all right for us. Not for Maisie. You do care about hurting Maisie, don't you?" "Yes. I couldn't bear her to be hurt. If only I needn't see her." "Darling, you must see her. You can't not. I want you to." "Well, if you want it so awfully, I will. But I tell you it won't be the same thing, afterwards, ever." "I shall be the same, Anne. And you." "Me? I wonder." He rose, smiling down at her. "Come," he said. "Don't let's be late." She went. v In the garden with Maisie, the long innocent conversation coming back and back; Maisie's sweetness haunting her, known now and remembered. Maisie walking in the garden among the wall flowers and tulips, between the clipped walls of yew, showing Anne her flowers. She stooped to lift their faces, to caress them with her little thin white fingers. "I don't know why I'm showing you round," she said; "you know it all much better than I do." "Oh, well, I used to come here a lot when I was little. I sort of lived here." Maisie's eyes listened, utterly attentive. "You knew Jerrold, then, when he was little, too?" "Yes. He was eight when I was five." "Do you remember what he was like?" "Yes." Maisie waited to see whether Anne were going on or not, but as Anne stopped dead she went on herself. "I wish _I_'d known Jerry all the time like that. I wish I remembered running about and playing with him.... You were Jerrold's friend, weren't you?" "And Elliot's and Colin's." The lying had begun. Falsehood by implication. And to this creature of palpable truth. "Somehow, I've always thought of you as Jerrold's most. That's what makes me feel as if you were mine, as if I'd known you quite a long time. You see, he's told me things about you." "Has he?" Anne's voice was as dull and flat as she could make it. If only Maisie would leave off talking about Jerrold, making her lie. "I've wanted to know you more than anybody I've ever heard of. There are heaps of things I want to say to you." She stooped to pick the last tulip of the bunch she was gathering for Anne. "I think it was perfectly splendid of you the way you looked after Colin. And the way you've looked after Jerry's land for him."