He turned to look at the blaze on the waters to the west. "Ah, how beautiful it is!" he exclaimed. "I wish I were a landscape-painter. But you are more beautiful, Margery. But it is safer to be a landscape-painter, so much safer!" Margery stopped and faced him. "Now, Frank, tell me the truth. Have you been out since I left you yesterday morning?" "No." "How long have you been working each day?" "I don't know. I didn't look at my watch. All day, I suppose; and the days are long--terribly long--and the nights too. The nights are even longer, but one can't work then." Margery was frightened, and, being frightened, she got angry with herself and him. "Oh, you really are too annoying," she said, with a stamp of her foot. "You get yourself into bad health by overworking and not taking any exercise--you've got the family liver, you know--and then you tell me the house is full of ghosts, and conjure up all sorts of absurd fancies about losing your personality, frightening yourself and me. Frank, it's too bad!" Frank looked up suddenly at her. "You too? Are you frightened too? God help me if you are frightened too!" "No, I'm not frightened," said Margery, "but I'm angry and ashamed of you. You're no better than a silly child." "Margery," said he, in his lowest audible tone, "I'll never touch the picture again if you wish. Tell me to destroy it and I will, and we'll go for a holiday together. I--I want a holiday; I've been working too hard. Or it would be better if you went in very quietly and cut it up. I don't want to go near it. It doesn't like me. Tell me to destroy it." "No, no!" cried Margery, "that's the very thing I will not do. And fancy saying you want a holiday! You've just had two months' holiday. But that's no reason why you should work like a lunatic. Of course any one can go mad if they like--it's only a question of whether you think you are going to." "Margery, tell me truthfully," said Frank, "do you think I am going mad?" "Of course I don't. I only think you are very, very silly. But I've known that ever since I knew you at all. It's a great pity." They strolled up and down for a few moments in silence. The magic of Margery's presence was beginning to work on Frank, and after a little space of silence he laughed to himself almost naturally. "Margery, you are doing me good," he said. "I've been terribly lonely without you." "And terribly silly, it appears." "Perhaps I have. Anyhow, I like to hear you tell me so. I should like to think I had been silly, but I don't know." "I'm afraid if you've been silly the portrait will be silly too," said she. "Is it silly, Frank?" "It's wonderful," said he, suddenly stopping short. "It is not only like me, but it's me--at least, if you will stop with me while I work it will be all me. I shall feel safer if you are there." "Then I won't be there," said Margery. "You are not a child any longer, and you must work alone. You always say you can't work if any one else is there."