"So am I. I love him in a way but I can't marry him. I can't face being stuck down in a little house and having to run it and be amiable at breakfast and welcome my husband's friends and be polite to his relations. I simply can't do it." "Can't you really, Helen? Geoffrey hasn't told me anything about it, but I know he's been miserable about something for months, and I did just think once from something he said, that it might be because of you." "Well, it's no good anyhow. I'm not going to see him any more after this evening. I do think anything's better than dragging on like this." "You know, Helen, I honestly think you wouldn't find it so very difficult to be married. You'd be quite rich. You've got some money of your own, and Geoffrey isn't doing so badly; he went into the business very young, so you could have decent maids, who would run the house for you. It makes all the difference if you have enough money not to have to bother." "Lavinia, your cynical outlook surprises me. But you see it isn't only things like that. It's Geoffrey. Loving him would get so frightfully in the way of my work. I don't believe it's possible to reconcile everything satisfactorily." She shut her mouth obstinately and Lavinia sighed. "I really am sorry," she said. "I think you could be perfectly happy, you two; and of course I'd love it from my own point of view, so perhaps I'm prejudiced, but still I do think it's possible." "It isn't, Lavinia; don't let's talk about it any more. I must go now; I'm going to shut up the studio for a bit; come and see me at home. Mother would love you. She thinks my friends are apt to be a little erratic, and you'd be a welcome change. Goodbye and thanks; don't come down." As Helen walked home she was racked with uncertainty. Lavinia had shaken instead of strengthening her decision. Nothing of this showed in her manner as she greeted Geoffrey a little later. He looked pale and ill, and when she said, "Sit down and be a little comfortable," he only shook his head, looked at her dumbly, and remained leaning against the mantelpiece. "Geoffrey dear," she said. "I've been thinking and worrying about us, and I've come to the conclusion that we simply mustn't see each other any more. I'm sorry; I'm sorry for myself, and I'm sorry for you, but it's no good." "You can't suddenly decide a thing like that; it isn't fair," said Geoffrey, but he spoke without conviction. "I have decided," she answered. "There's no use going over the same old ground; don't let's discuss it again. I'm going home for a bit, and I don't know whether I'll come back to this studio or not, so there's no reason why we should meet ever if we're reasonably careful to avoid each other. Goodbye, Geoffrey; I'd like you to go now." She spoke coldly, her plans seemed to be cut and dried, and there was a finality about her words that rang in Geoffrey's aching head. "All right," he said. "I'll go now; goodbye."