‘No, no, I’m not,’ he said coaxingly. ‘Look, I’ll be so nice now. Listen to me, Judy darling. You’re not the sort of person to have one abortive little romance and go to your grave an old maid. An old maid who’s had a disappointment, Judy!--isn’t that what it’s called? There, I’m teasing again and I said I wouldn’t. Darling, what’s the use of being so damned constant? _Do_ find someone else quick. You’ve no idea how delightful you’ll find it when you’re old to remember what a lot of people you’ve loved. And it’s the _very_ best remedy, Judy, for your indisposition.’ ‘Shall you employ it if----’ ‘If you turn me down? Probably. But don’t turn me down--not without a trial. Here am I, ready to hand: you could do a damned sight worse than take me. I’ll see we have a good time.’ Moths flittered and spun in the light of the head-lamps; beyond the two still long shafts of brightness the night looked very dark. How many miles from home? At length she said: ‘I take it this is not a proposal of marriage, Julian.’ He laughed. ‘No, my dear, it is not. Nothing so grim.’ ‘Ah, I see--your mistress.’ Her voice and her words made her wonder if she were not holding a conversation in a dream: there was the same feeling of having made a pronouncement of the first importance; but whose meaning you could not detect. Julian’s mistress.... The idea was for some reason profoundly shocking. A French, an Austrian, a Russian; and now an English.... But perhaps he had been lying then. He did tell such lies about his experiences. ‘I’m not made for matrimony any more than you are,’ he said in a voice of gentle explanation. ‘Can you imagine me as a husband? What hell for some poor fool!... Yet,’ he added with a sigh, ‘I’d be fond of my children. I’d like to bring up a son. But I shall never have one.’ ‘If you would marry Mariella,’ she said, still out of her dream, ‘you could bring up Peter. She’d like that. I think she loves you.’ He took no notice; and she wondered if she had not spoken aloud, after all; or whether her small voice had not penetrated his absorption. ‘Why, what would we make of each other married?’ he went on. ‘It would be one long succession of _agaçements_. We’re both so self-conscious, so fastidious, so civilized.... Oh, it would be appalling.’ ‘Yes, it would.’ ‘But, Judith, lovely delightful Judith,’ he pleaded, his voice deep and beautiful, ‘for a season, for a season! A clean leap in, and out again the minute it started to be a failure. Think what we could give each other!’ ‘It would be very good for us I suppose....’ She held her head in her hands, trying to think. What could he possibly give her that she would want?