Rehearsing it all, "How--how in God's name?" he had desperately cried to himself, "can I tell her of Audrey?" She whom he could never bear to distress--how give her this vital hurt? She from whom--for the suffering it would cause her--he could never endure to be parted, how deliberately put her away? He would tell her his intention; how endure what she would say, or not say? He would carry out his purpose and she would leave him and must shortly die; and how endure her death in such circumstances? Or, haply, he would prevail on her to stay with him; and she, supplanted, jealous of Audrey and gentle Audrey fearing her. And how endure that? No--to create such a breach insupportable, and insupportable life without Audrey. What then? It came to him as complete solution, and as complete solution he pressed it now on Audrey, that he would marry Audrey first, then after a little while tell. The more he examined it, the more obvious, the less impossible of failure it seemed. "Gran, dear," he imagined himself saying, taking his opportunity in one of those frequent moments when, out driving with her or sitting alone with her in the evening, she loved just to sit silent, resting her hand on his,--"Gran, dear, I've something to tell you. I've done something and done it without telling you, so as to have you go on living with me like we've always lived together. Gran, I'm married--Audrey, Audrey Oxford; you remember, dear?" Imagining it, he could imagine her arms about him. "Gran, I'm married"--easy and kind. "Gran, I'm going to marry, going to marry Audrey Oxford"--cruel, impossible! The solution removed also an obstacle to their mating on Audrey's side--her sister. Their courtship had been carried on against her sister's disapproval. Maggie was twenty years older than Audrey, more mother to her than sister, and sharp-tongued in the matter of Roly's frequent visits, the more surely to avert the disaster in which she believed they must end. "In time--it's only a question of time," she had once said to Audrey, "he will forget you, turn to his own position and responsibilities in life--leave you broken-hearted. How else can it end?" And Audrey in tears: "What if I tell you he has asked me to marry him?" "He has asked you that?" "Maggie, he has." "Has he told Lady Burdon?" "Not yet, because--" "Ah!" And Audrey: "Oh, how can you say you love me?" And Maggie: "Audrey! Audrey!" And Audrey: "Maggie, I didn't mean that," And Maggie, steeling her heart: "But you think it: the first result of him. You are girl and boy; you don't understand. Why, I, who would die if you were to die, would rather see you dead than betrothed to him. If it ended in marriage, it would end in misery." And later she had said to him: "If you break Audrey's heart, I will never forgive you. That's a poor threat. I would find a way perhaps--"