They sat for a while, hand in hand, taking quiet comfort from one another, each knowing what must next be said, each fearful of being first to speak. At last, releasing her hands, Aliette braced herself to the ordeal. "About"--fastidiousness almost overwhelmed her--"about my--my husband. You understand, don't you, that he--that he isn't my husband any more--that otherwise I would never have come to you--that, that it's been all over between him and me--for, for ever so long." "Yes, dear. I--I understand." Very slowly, he drew her toward him. His eyes no longer blinded her; looking deep into the blue of them, she saw only a great comprehension, a great reverence. "I should have understood--even without your telling me." Very slowly, she yielded to the pull of his hands; yielded him her lips. Very clearly she knew herself--as they swayed to one another in that first kiss--his woman. Again, it was a while before either spoke. Then Ronnie said, speaking as simply as any boy: "I wish I knew what was the right thing to be done. I can't give you up. Not now! Tell me, if you were free--would you marry me?" "You know that I would." She, too, spoke simply of the things in her heart. "But I'm not free. We're neither of us free." "You mean that--that I'll have to give you up?" Again she braced herself. "I--I'm afraid so." "Why?" "Because of----" She could not yet bring herself to mention his mother. "Because of your career." "My career!" He laughed, holding her in his arms. "As if my career had anything to do with it. I'm only a poor devil of a barrister, living on the charitable briefs of Jimmy Wilberforce. It's you, your reputation that counts, not mine." "I can't let my love bring you harm." She withdrew from him--her eyes still suffused with happiness; her lips still quivering from his caress. "Never mind me. It's you we have to consider. In law you're--you're still your husband's. Unless he lets you divorce him." "He'd never do that." "Why not? It's lawful. It's done every day." "Even if he would--I couldn't. It wouldn't be playing the game." "Aliette"--stubbornly, Ronnie rose to his feet,--"I--I want you so much that nothing else seems to matter. But I can't--I won't ask you to--to do the other thing. You talk about playing the game. What's the alternative? If you divorce your--your husband, he won't suffer. Nobody cares what a man does. But the other thing--the other thing's all wrong----" His words chilled her to fear. But she knew that she must master fear--even as he had mastered passion. "Are you--are you so sure?" said Aliette. "Can love, real love, ever be wrong?"