“You conventional!” she exclaimed in disgust. “What they have done means misery not only for themselves but for others. For your brother, though you will not think of him. For the little boy—did you think of him? And perhaps for another child, who will have the whole world against him if it knows. They have sinned against society, and you do not diminish the misery by proving that society is bad or foolish. It is the saddest truth I have yet perceived that the Beloved Republic”—here she took up a book—“of which Swinburne speaks”—she put the book down—“will not be brought about by love alone. It will approach with no flourish of trumpets, and have no declaration of independence. Self-sacrifice and—worse still—self-mutilation are the things that sometimes help it most, and that is why we should start for Stockholm this evening.” He waited for her indignation to subside, and then continued. “I don’t know whether it can be hushed up. I don’t yet know whether it ought to be hushed up. But we ought to provide the opportunity. There is no scandal yet. If we go, it is just possible there never will be any. We must talk over the whole thing and—” “—And lie!” interrupted Mrs. Failing, who hated travel. “—And see how to avoid the greatest unhappiness.” There was to be no scandal. By the time they arrived Robert had been drowned. Mrs. Elliot described how they had gone swimming, and how, “since he always lived inland,” the great waves had tired him. They had raced for the open sea. “What are your plans?” he asked. “I bring you a message from Frederick.” “I heard him call,” she continued, “but I thought he was laughing. When I turned, it was too late. He put his hands behind his back and sank. For he would only have drowned me with him. I should have done the same.” Mrs. Failing was thrilled, and kissed her. But Mr. Failing knew that life does not continue heroic for long, and he gave her the message from her husband: Would she come back to him? To his intense astonishment—at first to his regret—she replied, “I will think about it. If I loved him the very least bit I should say no. If I had anything to do with my life I should say no. But it is simply a question of beating time till I die. Nothing that is coming matters. I may as well sit in his drawing-room and dust his furniture, since he has suggested it.” And Mr. Elliot, though he made certain stipulations, was positively glad to see her. People had begun to laugh at him, and to say that his wife had run away. She had not. She had been with his sister in Sweden. In a half miraculous way the matter was hushed up. Even the Silts only scented “something strange.” When Stephen was born, it was abroad. When he came to England, it was as the child of a friend of Mr. Failing’s. Mrs. Elliot returned unsuspected to her husband.