“How much more serious. And what admirable distress. I think I can help. Take this.” He brought out a pocket electric lamp. “I always carry this at night. It is most useful in a garden. There is an old Venetian mirror hanging at the top of the stairs. While you are at work I will clear away all this stuff.” “What will you do with it?” “Pitch the shavings into the coal cellar. The petrol we can use—quite ironically—in an hour’s time.” “What do you mean?” “I have been thinking. Go in and look into that Venetian mirror!” She touched his arm with the tips of her fingers. “Dear, I trust you. I do, utterly. I couldn’t help it, even if you were not to be trusted.” “Is that Nature?” “I think it must be!” “Put all fear out of your heart.” She rose and drew apart, yet with a suggestion of lingering and of the gliding away of a dear presence that would quickly return. The light of the pocket lamp flashed a yellow circle on the oak door. She pushed it open and entered the cottage, and climbed the stairs with a new and delightful sense of possession. She was conscious no longer of problems, disharmonies, the suppression of all that was vital in her. A spacious life had opened, and she entered it as one enters a June garden. Canterton had cleared away Lawrence Kentucky’s war material, and Eve found him sitting in the porch when she returned. “Very tired?” “No.” “May I talk a little longer?” “Why not!” She sat down beside him. “Our comradeship starts from now. May I assume that?” “I dare to assume it, because one learns not to ask too much.” “Ah, that’s it. Life, at its best, is a very delicate perfume. The gross satisfactions don’t count in the long run. I want you to do big things. I want us to do them together. And Lynette shall keep us two healthy children.” She thought a moment, staring into the night. “And when Lynette grows up?” “I think she will love you the better. And we shall never tarnish her love. Are you content?” He bent towards her, and took one of her hands. “Dearest of women! think, consider, before you pledge yourself. Can you bear to surrender so much for the working life I can give you?” She answered him under her breath. “Yes. I want a man for a comrade—a man who doesn’t want to be bribed. Oh, my dear, let me speak out. Sex—sex disgusted me in that London life. I revolted from it. It made me hate men. Yet it is not sex that is wrong, only our use of it. I think it is the child that counts in those matters with a woman.” His hand held hers firmly. “Eve, will you grow hungry—ever?” “For what?” “Children!” She bent her head. “I will tell you. No. I think I can spend that part of the woman in me on Lynette and on you.” “On me.” “A woman’s love—I mean the real love—has some of the mother spirit in it. Don’t you know that?” He lifted her hand and kissed it.