"Yes. It can be dispelled." "Only with time." "Yes." Lotta said: "I like the way you face things. There is no one like you for that--except Cathleen. . . . Where will you live now?" "For the time being, with Kilner, I think." "I found him a little studio in Hampstead. He is delighted and happy with it." "I'll go there now, if you don't mind." Lotta gave him the direction, and in a few minutes by Tube he was with Kilner, whom he found hard at work at a new Adam and Eve, squaring the composition on to the canvas. "It's pouring money," said Kilner. "Your twenty pounds came one day and the next I heard that two drawings of mine had been sold, a head of Old Lunt and a half-length of Martin patting a horse's rump. . . . Casey's been up here every day asking for you." "Casey? What does he want? Money? I'm not a millionaire." "The poor devil has to leave London. It's eating up the little piece of his lung left by South Africa." "That's bad." "Seen anybody?" "Only Miss Cleethorpe." "She's a fine woman. I think I shall marry her. She's twenty years older than I am, but that is just about enough to bring a woman within reach of an artist." "But----" "Oh! she began it. We've already been down to her cottage in the country--I like that too. You'll have to fork out for a wedding present." "I'll cancel your debts. But, are you really?" "Fourmy," said Kilner, "you're an incorrigible romantic. I'm a realist, and like love's young dream to remain a dream. Life is a long, slow, dreary business, and I want a woman I can live with. . . ." "Did you say that to Lotta?" "Not in so many words, but in effect." "Well, I'm----" "You're not a bit glad. You're horrified. Common-sense is and always will be sordid to you. Lotta and I cooked chestnuts over a fire. We shall go on cooking chestnuts till we die. How's Ann?" "Gone." "I thought that would happen. You and I busted her between us--her pride, her joy in living, her rather slovenly habits of mind. You didn't know you were doing it. I did. I'm an awful swine. I told Lotta all about it--as we were cooking chestnuts. She refused to believe me." There was a tap at the door, and Casey appeared. He rushed excitedly at René, and began to pour out an excited tale of how he had found the very thing, a livery yard at Rickham, thirty miles out of London to the northwest. "Our station," said Kilner. "Lotta's and mine." "It's a busy little town, but it needs brisking up, like you say, Mr. Fourmy; it needs motor-cars and a garage. That yard's the very thing, only a hundred yards from the station. There are people with cars living near, but they have to go five miles for repairs, and the trades-people can't have cars, because there is no one to look after them. It's _the_ chance. I've got an option on the yard till next week. Will you take it up? I've got a map. See?"