“Well,” said I, “the matter seems fairly simple. You two”—I swallowed it—“love one another.” I paused. They answered me by silence, by a thoughtful silence. “You belong to each other. I have thought it over and looked at it from many points of view. I happened to want—impossible things. . . . I behaved badly. I had no right to pursue you.” I turned to Verrall. “You hold yourself bound to her?” He nodded assent. “No social influence, no fading out of all this generous clearness in the air—for that might happen—will change you back . . . ?” He answered me with honest eyes meeting mine, “No, Leadford, no!” “I did not know you,” I said. “I thought of you as something very different from this.” “I was,” he interpolated. “Now,” I said, “it is all changed.” Then I halted—for my thread had slipped away from me. “As for me,” I went on, and glanced at Nettie’s downcast face, and then sat forward with my eyes upon the flowers between us, “since I am swayed and shall be swayed by an affection for Nettie, since that affection is rich with the seeds of desire, since to see her yours and wholly yours is not to be endured by me—I must turn about and go from you; you must avoid me and I you. . . . We must divide the world like Jacob and Esau. . . . I must direct myself with all the will I have to other things. After all—this passion is not life! It is perhaps for brutes and savages, but for men. No! We must part and I must forget. What else is there but that?” I did not look up, I sat very tense with the red petals printing an indelible memory in my brain, but I felt the assent of Verrall’s pose. There were some moments of silence. Then Nettie spoke. “But———” she said, and ceased. I waited for a little while. I sighed and leant back in my chair. “It is perfectly simple,” I smiled, “now that we have cool heads.” “But IS it simple?” asked Nettie, and slashed my discourse out of being. I looked up and found her with her eyes on Verrall. “You see,” she said, “I like Willie. It’s hard to say what one feels—but I don’t want him to go away like that.” “But then,” objected Verrall, “how———?” “No,” said Nettie, and swept her half-arranged carnation petals back into a heap of confusion. She began to arrange them very quickly into one long straight line. “It’s so difficult——— I’ve never before in all my life tried to get to the bottom of my mind. For one thing, I’ve not treated Willie properly. He—he counted on me. I know he did. I was his hope. I was a promised delight—something, something to crown life—better than anything he had ever had. And a secret pride. . . . He lived upon me. I knew—when we two began to meet together, you and I——— It was a sort of treachery to him———” “Treachery!” I said. “You were only feeling your way through all these perplexities.” “You thought it treachery.” “I don’t now.” “I did. In a sense I think so still. For you had need of me.” I made a slight protest at this doctrine and fell thinking.