‘Julia!’

‘You have left Emily.  How did you leave her?’

’She is fast asleep on the sofa.  She fell asleep.  Then why should I remain?  The house was unbearable.  She went to sleep, saying she felt very happy.’

‘Really!  What induced such a change in her?  Did you——­’

’No; I did not ask her to marry me; but I was able to tell her that I was not going to marry you, and that seemed entirely to satisfy her.’

‘Did she ask you?’

’Yes.  And when I told her I was not, she said that that was all she wanted to know—­that she would soon get well now.  How we human beings thrive in each other’s unhappiness!’

‘Quite true, and we have been reproaching ourselves for our selfishness.’

’Yes, and hers is infinitely greater.  She is quite satisfied not to be happy herself, so long as she can make sure of our unhappiness.  And what is so strange is her utter unconsciousness of her own fantastic and hardly conceivable selfishness....  It is astonishing!’

‘She is very young, and the young are naturally egotistic.’

’Possibly.  Still, it is hardly more agreeable to encounter.  Come, let’s go for a walk; and, above all things, let’s talk no more about Emily.’

The roads were greasy, and the hedges were torn and worn with incipient winter, and when they dipped the town appeared, a reddish-brown mass in the blue landscape.  Hubert thought of his play and his love; but not separately—­they seemed to him now as one indissoluble, indivisible thing; and he told her that he never would be able to write it without her assistance.  That she might be of use to him in his work was singularly sweet to hear, and the thought reached to the end of her heart, causing her to smile sadly, and argue vainly, and him to reply querulously.  They walked for about a mile; and then, wearied with sad expostulation, the conversation fell, and at the end of a long silence Julia said—­

‘I think we had better turn back.’

The suggestion filled Hubert’s heart with rushing pain, and he answered—­

’Why should we return?  I cannot go back to that girl.  Oh, the miserable life we are leading!’

’What can we do?  We must go back; we cannot live in a tent by the wayside.  We have no tent to set up.’

‘Come to London, and be my wife.’

‘No,’ she said; ‘that is impossible.  Let us not speak of it.’

Hubert did not answer; and, turning their faces homeward, they walked some way in silence.  Suddenly Hubert said—­

’No; it is impossible.  I cannot return.  There is no use.  I’m at the end of my tether.  I cannot.’

She looked at him in alarm.

‘Hubert,’ she said, ‘this is folly!  I cannot return without you.’

’You ruin my life; you refuse me the only happiness.  I’m more wretched than I can tell you!’

‘And I!  Do you think that I’m not wretched?’ She raised her face to his; her eyes were full of tears.  He caught her in his arms, and kissed her.  The warm touch of her lips, the scent of her face and hair, banished all but desire of her.