If she shattered his natural and spontaneous love, would a fresh type, all unknown to him now--that which is founded on pity and kindly indulgence--rise from out the ruins? Suppose not? What if that other kind of love--tender and divine though it may be--was impossible for him? She did not fear that he would repulse her cruelly and scornfully--that he could never do, surely. But suppose his love was killed, while hers remained alive? Ah! Merciful heavens! With eyes filled by a sudden horror she stopped short before the painting of Geoff that hung upon the wall. Long she gazed, and her wild glance grew gentle with unutterable affection--with an almost maternal yearning. Would life be endurable were it not henceforth consecrated to this man? Ten thousand times no! Both heart and intellect anguished to be allowed full scope to expend their uttermost capacities in the service of love. And was she not verily endowed with gifts both mental and physical that would enable her to make existence infinitely more delightful, more full, interesting and complete for him, than could possibly be his lot with Art for his sole mistress? Surely herein lay her foreordained life's work? Who could be so cruel, so pitiless, as to wish her to be made an outcast from this her heritage? She stretched forth her hands imploringly to the dear pictured face. Would he wish it? Oh, surely not! She felt now that her very cause for existence was explained--she had discovered the end whereunto she had been created--the duty for which she had been placed on earth, and for the more perfect fulfilment of which every previous experience of her life, glad or sorry, had been but essential preliminary training. Geoff was sweet-natured indeed, and ever kindly, yet all artistic temperaments need understanding. It would require true insight and discretion, perchance a deal of patience and forbearance, to render any lifelong union naught but an added inspiration, an unfailing stimulus, an additional happiness to this now ardent lover. Could there be any other woman more fitted to this task than she was herself--more capable of taking Geoff's whole existence into her tender keeping, and thereby blessing and enriching it day by day? Surely if he never learnt this--her one and only secret--it would be impotent as if it had no existence? And never would it be revealed to him by outside agency; at least, so far as human foresight could discern. Who among those who had known the truth in those bygone years was in the least likely to again cross her path? Not a single individual. Surely it would be well for Geoffrey to be so far deceived--to be tricked, and, if necessary, lied to on this one point? Would not his ultimate greatest happiness be thereby ensured? Since he wished her for his wife, should he not have his will? Looking to her unhesitatingly for all the good and true, the pure and beauteous in womanhood--was he to be disillusioned?