Eventually it occurred to Maurice that he could not well stand in the roadway till sunset, taking leave of the sister he was so loth to lose, and, with a sigh of exasperation, he pushed her gently towards her husband. "_Voila, cherie_, . . . enough of my endless adieux, or _ce bon_ Lenox may be tempted to break the sixth commandment on my account, in addition to the eighth." Lenox smiled tolerantly down from six feet of height upon his slim, fair brother-in-law. "That temptation should be your own prerogative, my dear fellow, since I am taking her from you for good." Maurice laughed. "_Mon Dieu_, yes. You have certainly given me a fair excuse to hate you. And I have wondered more than once, in the last three months, why one could not manage it." "Too fatiguing for a man of your calibre!" the other answered with good-humoured bluntness. "You could never be bothered to keep it up." "Ah, _mon ami_, you men who speak little speak to the point! You are altogether too discerning. But for Quita's sake, at least, we could never be otherwise than firm friends. With all my heart I wish good fortune to you both, and count the days to your return." The two men shook hands cordially: and Lenox, beckoning the muleteer, lifted his wife into the saddle; thus averting a final demonstration. She waved her hand to a blurred vision of her brother, smiling resolutely, till his back was turned: and he departed townward;--a lonely brown figure, to which a slight stoop of the shoulders lent an added air of pathos. Quita sat looking after him, her stillness belying the clash of emotions at her heart. That vanishing figure on the sunlit road stood for all that she knew and loved best in the world: for Art, independence, good comradeship: for the happy, irresponsible, hand-to-mouth life of Bohemia: for the Past, dear and familiar, as a well-loved voice: while the quiet man at her side,--whose mere presence suggested latent force, and gave her a sense of protection wholly new to her,--stood for the Future; the undiscovered country, peopled with possibilities, dark and bright. And Quita Lenox, being blest, or curst, with the insight and detached spirit of the artist, saw clearly that the Great Experiment held, for her, a large element of hazard; that she had staked her all upon a turn of the wheel, with what resulting Time alone could show. Her husband's hand on her arm brought reflection abruptly to an end. "He is almost out of sight now," Lenox said quietly. "And I think it's time we made a start. Will you come?" She turned to him at once, with a smile whose April quality heightened its charm. "Of course I will; and gladly. Don't think me horrid, Eldred. I have always been frank with you, haven't I? And . . . it _is_ a wrench leaving Michael to live and work alone." "I quite understand that: and I value your devotion to him for selfish reasons. It proves what you may be capable of feeling . . . for me, one of these days."