"It's about Jerrold," she said. After dinner he came to her in the library. "Where's Jerrold?" "In the drawing-room with Colin. He won't come in." "Eliot, there's something awfully wrong with him. He can't sleep. He can't eat. He's sick if he tries." "He looks pretty ghastly." "Do you know what's the matter with him?" "How can I know? He doesn't tell me anything." "It's ever since he heard that Anne's going." "He's worried about her. So am I. So are you." "He isn't worrying. He's fretting.... Eliot--do you think he cares for her?" Eliot didn't answer her. He looked at her gravely, searchingly, as if he were measuring her strength before he answered. "Don't be afraid to tell me. I'm not a coward." "I haven't anything to tell you. It isn't altogether this affair of Anne's. Jerrold hasn't been fit for a long time." "It's been going on for a long time." "What makes you think so?" "Oh," said Maisie, "everything." "Then why don't you ask him?" "But--if it is so--would he tell me?" "I don't know. Perhaps he wants to tell you, only he's afraid. Anyhow, if it isn't so he'll tell you and you'll be happy." "Somehow I don't think I'm going to be happy." "Then," he said, "you're going to be brave." She thought: He knows. He's known all the time, only he won't give them away. "Yes," she said, "I'll ask him." "Maisie--if it is so what will you do?" "Do? There's only one thing I _can_ do." She turned to him, and her milk-white face was grey-white, ashen; the skin had a slack, pitted look, suddenly old. The soft flesh trembled. But her mouth and eyes were still. In this moment of her agony no base emotion defaced their sweetness, so that she seemed to him utterly composed. She had seen what she could do. Something hard and terrible. "I can set him free." ii That was the end she had seen before her, vaguely, as something not only hard and terrible, but beautiful and supreme. To leave off clinging to the illusion of her happiness. To let go. And with that letting go she was aware that an obscure horror had been hanging over her for three days and three nights and was now gone. She stood free of herself, in a great light and peace, so that presently when Jerrold came to her she met him with an incomparable tranquillity. "Jerrold--" The slight throbbing of her voice startled him coming out of her stillness. They stood up, facing each other, in attitudes that had no permanence, as if what must pass between them now would be sudden and soon over. "Do you care for Anne?" The words dropped clear through her stillness, vibrating. His eyes went from her, evading the issue. Her voice came with a sharper stress. "I _must_ know. _Do_ you care for her?" "Yes." "And that's why she's going?" "Yes. That's why she's going. Did Eliot say anything?" "No. He only told me to ask you. He said you'd tell me the truth." "I have told you the truth. I'm sorry, Maisie." "I know you're sorry. So am I."