"But she doesn't show it. She goes on. She wants things and wants things----" "And you want to go away. It's the same thing. It's exactly the same thing. It's dissatisfaction. Life leaves you empty and craving--leaves you with nothing to do but little immediate things that turn to dust as you do them. It's her trouble, just as it's your trouble." "But she doesn't show it." "Women don't. Not so much. Perhaps even she doesn't know it. Half the women in our world don't know--and for a woman it's so much easier to go on--so many little things."... Trafford tried to grasp the intention of this. "Mother," he said, "I mean to go away." "But think of her!" "I've thought. Now I've got to think of myself." "You can't--without her." "I will. It's what I'm resolved to do." "Go right away?" "Right away." "And think?" He nodded. "Find out--what it all means, my boy?" "Yes. So far as I'm concerned." "And then----?" "Come back, I suppose. I haven't thought." "To her?" He didn't answer. She went and stood beside him, leaning upon the mantel. "Godwin," she said, "she'd only be further behind.... You've got to take her with you." He stood still and silent. "You've got to think things out with her. If you don't----" "I can't." "Then you ought to go away with her----" She stopped. "For good?" he asked. "Yes." They were both silent for a space. Then Mrs. Trafford gave her mind to the tea that was cooling in the cups, and added milk and sugar. She spoke again with the table between them. "I've thought so much of these things," she said with the milk-jug in her hand. "It's not only you two, but others. And all the movement about us.... Marriage isn't what it was. It's become a different thing because women have become human beings. Only----You know, Godwin, all these things are so difficult to express. Woman's come out of being a slave, and yet she isn't an equal.... We've had a sort of sham emancipation, and we haven't yet come to the real one." She put down the milk-jug on the tray with an air of grave deliberation. "If you go away from her and make the most wonderful discoveries about life and yourself, it's no good--unless she makes them too. It's no good at all.... You can't live without her in the end, any more than she can live without you. You may think you can, but I've watched you. You don't want to go away from her, you want to go away from the world that's got hold of her, from the dresses and parties and the competition and all this complicated flatness we have to live in.... It wouldn't worry you a bit, if it hadn't got hold of her. You don't want to get out of it for your own sake. You _are_ out of it. You are as much out of it as any one can be. Only she holds you in it, because she isn't out of it. Your going away will do nothing. She'll still be in it--and still have her hold on you.... You've got to take her away. Or else--if you go away--in the end it will be just like a ship, Godwin, coming back to its moorings."