It so manifestly wasn't that he looked at her, and on the instant the light of life began to be again visible to him, very faint and far, like the pin-point of daylight at the end of a long tunnel, but still visible. For he now perceived that for her, too, the light had gone out--blown out, most likely, by the same breath of remorse. Sublime egoist! He was to have the monopoly of fine sentiments and regretful indecisions, was he? Not a thought for her, and what she must have been feeling. But perhaps what she had felt had not been that at all; yet something she had felt, something not happy--something that led to the throwing away of white roses. "I can't let it lie there," he said, holding it in his hand. "I should like to think," he added, madly trying to find some words to break the spell that, he now felt, held them both--"I should like to think it would never fade." She smiled at that--a small and pitiful smile. "Cheer up," she said; "lots of people have got _really_ married and then parted, as they say, at the church door. This is a perfect spot for a parting," she added, a little wildly, waving toward a corn-chandler's and a tobacconist's; "or, if your chivalry won't let you desert me in this desolate neighborhood . . . let me tell you something, something to remember; you'll find it wonderfully soothing and helpful. From this moment henceforth, forever, every place in the world where we are will be the best place for parting--if we want to part. Isn't that almost as good as the freedom you're crying your eyes out for?" "I'm not," he said, absurdly; but she went on. "Do you think I don't understand? Do you think I don't know how you feel twenty times more bound to me than if we were really married? Perhaps it's only because everything's so new and nasty. Perhaps you won't feel like that when you get used to things. But if you do--if you don't get over it then--it's all been for nothing, and we might as well have parted among the pigeons." She walked faster and faster. "What we have to remember--oh yes, it's for me as well as you--what we've got to remember is that we're to be perfectly free. We needn't stay with each other an instant after we wish not to stay. Doesn't that help?" "You're a witch," he said, keeping pace with her quickened steps, "but you don't know everything. And you're tired and--" "I know quite enough," she said. Never had he felt more helpless. Their aimless walking was leading them into narrower and poorer streets where her bridal whiteness caught the eye and turned the head of every passer-by. The pavements were choked with slow passengers and playing children, small, dirty, pale, with the anxious expression of little old men and women. "Do you like deer?" he asked, suddenly. "Deer?" "Yes--fawns, does, stags, antlers?" "Of course I do." "Then let's go to Richmond Park. Let's get out of this."