'There now,' she said. 'That's over. They look as blind and dim as a woman whose lover has left her. Have you ever,' she asked, turning her head to me still lying pillowed on Mrs. Barnes's grapes--the basket had a lid--'seen a woman whose lover has left her?' 'Of course I have. Everybody has been left by somebody.' 'I mean _just_ left.' 'Yes. I've seen that too.' 'They look exactly like that,' said Dolly, nodding towards the crocuses. 'Smitten colourless. Light gone, life gone, beauty gone,--dead things in a dead world. I don't,' she concluded, shaking her head slowly, 'hold with love.' At this I sat up too, and began to tidy my hair and put my hat on again. 'It's cold,' I said, 'now that the sun is gone. Let us go home.' Dolly didn't move. 'Do you?' she asked. 'Do I what?' 'Hold with love.' 'Yes,' I said. 'Whatever happens?' 'Yes,' I said. 'Whatever its end is?' 'Yes,' I said. 'And I won't even say yes _and_ no, as the cautious Charlotte Brontë did when she was asked if she liked London. I won't be cautious in love. I won't look at all the reasons for saying no. It's a glorious thing to have had. It's splendid to have believed all one did believe.' 'Even when there never was a shred of justification for the belief?' asked Dolly, watching me. 'Yes,' I said; and began passionately to pin my hat on, digging the pins into my head in my vehemence. 'Yes. The thing is to believe. Not go round first cautiously on tiptoe so as to be sure before believing and trusting that your precious belief and trust are going to be safe. Safe! There's no safety in love. You risk the whole of life. But the great thing _is_ to risk--to believe, and to risk everything for your belief. And if there wasn't anything there, if it was you all by yourself who imagined the beautiful kind things in the other one, the wonderful, generous, beautiful kind things, what does it matter? They weren't there, but _you_ for once were capable of imagining them. You _were_ up among the stars for a little, you _did_ touch heaven. And when you've had the tumble down again and you're scrunched all to pieces and are just a miserable heap of blood and brokenness, where's your grit that you should complain? Haven't you seen wonders up there past all telling, and had supreme joys? It's because you were up in heaven that your fall is so tremendous and hurts so. What you've got to do is not to be killed. You've got at all costs to stay alive, so that for the rest of your days you may go gratefully, giving thanks to God that once ... you see,' I finished suddenly, 'I'm a great believer in saying thank you.' 'Oh,' said Dolly, laying her hand on my knee and looking at me very kindly, 'I'm so glad!' 'Now what are you glad about, Dolly?' I asked, turning on her and giving my hat a pull straight. And I added, my chin in the air, 'Those dead women of yours in their dead world, indeed! Ashamed of themselves--that's what they ought to be.' 'You're cured,' said Dolly.