Jennifer’s boxes stood packed and strapped in a corner. Her personality had already, terrifyingly, been drained from her two rooms. There was now only a melancholy whisper of that which, during the two years of her tenancy, had filled the little space between her walls with a warm mystery. She had become identified with the quickening of imagination, the lyrical impulse. Oh, how ridiculous, how sad, to have made one person into all poetry! To-morrow it would all be finished. Judith went softly from the sitting-room into the bedroom: and there was Jennifer lying back on her pillow and waiting. ‘Hullo, darling,’ she said. Her voice was low and mournful. ‘Jennifer!’ She put out her hand and Judith took it, clung to it, while Jennifer drew her down beside her on the bed. ‘Jennifer, darling, how are you?’ ‘I’m better, I’ve slept. I was so tired. But I’m going away.’ ‘I know.’ ‘Don’t tell anyone, Judith, but I’m not coming back.’ ‘Oh, Jennifer, what shall I do without you?’ ‘Darling, I _can’t_ come back,’ she said in an urgent, painful whisper. ‘I know. I know. And I must come back, I suppose. I’m like that: I can’t uproot. You’re wise, you never grow roots. So you can go away when you want to without making a wound in yourself. It’s no good my pretending I could do the same. I must wait; though goodness knows for what: the examinations I suppose. This place without you.... Oh!’ She pressed her forehead against the hand that still held hers, abandoning, with her last words, the effort to speak lightly. ‘Darling,’ said Jennifer. ‘It is making a wound--you ought to know. You’re making a wound.’ ‘Then why do you go away from me?’ ‘Oh, Judith, I’ve got to go!’ She sighed wearily. ‘What I really wanted to say to you was: please forgive me for everything.’ ‘Forgive.... Oh, Jennifer....’ ‘Don’t say there’s nothing to forgive. Say I forgive you.’ ‘I forgive you then.’ ‘Because I have hurt you, haven’t I?’ ‘It wasn’t your fault. Nothing’s been your fault.’ ‘I’ve been unhappy too. I thought I was going off my head a little while ago.’ She sighed again. ‘It’s all such a muddle. I do get into such muddles. I’m so used to flying to you to be got out of them, I can’t think how I shall manage without you.’ Judith was silent, her throat aching with tears. Never to hear Jennifer’s step hurrying along the corridor, never again to see her burst flushed and desperate into the room crying: ‘Oh, darling, I’m in such a muddle....’ That had been such a thing to look forward to: it had been such pleasure to comfort, advise, explain, even though the muddles had generally been found to be laughable trifles. ‘I wanted to say some more things, but it’s so difficult,’ Jennifer went on. ‘Now you’re here I can’t say anything.’ ‘Don’t try, darling. I’m quite happy.’