“Oh—­as for what he is—­” she said, and paused. “I know....” and then suddenly she began to speak very fast.

“Don’t you see?—­can’t you see?—­that I don’t marry Gurnard for what he is in that sense, but for what he is in the other.  It isn’t a marriage in your sense at all.  And ... and it doesn’t affect you ... don’t you see?  We have to have done with one another, because ... because....”

I had an inspiration.

“I believe,” I said, very slowly, “I believe ... you do care....”

She said nothing.

“You care,” I repeated.

She spoke then with an energy that had something of a threat in it.  “Do you think I would?  Do you think I could?... or dare?  Don’t you understand?” She faltered—­“but then....” she added, and was silent for a long minute.  I felt the throb of a thousand pulses in my head, on my temples.  “Oh, yes, I care,” she said slowly, “but that—­that makes it all the worse.  Why, yes, I care—­yes, yes.  It hurts me to see you.  I might....  It would draw me away.  I have my allotted course.  And you—­Don’t you see, you would influence me; you would be—­you are—­a disease—­for me.”

“But,” I said, “I could—­I would—­do anything.”

I had only the faintest of ideas of what I would do—­for her sake.

“Ah, no,” she said, “you must not say that.  You don’t understand....  Even that would mean misery for you—­and I—­I could not bear.  Don’t you see?  Even now, before you have done your allotted part, I am wanting—­oh, wanting—­to let you go....  But I must not; I must not.  You must go on ... and bear it for a little while more—­and then....”

There was a tension somewhere, a string somewhere that was stretched tight and vibrating.  I was tremulous with an excitement that overmastered my powers of speech, that surpassed my understanding.

“Don’t you see ...” she asked again, “you are the past—­the passing.  We could never meet.  You are ... for me ... only the portrait of a man—­of a man who has been dead—­oh, a long time; and I, for you, only a possibility ... a conception....  You work to bring me on—­to make me possible.”

“But—­” I said.  The idea was so difficult to grasp.  “I will—­there must be a way—­”

“No,” she answered, “there is no way—­you must go back; must try.  There will be Churchill and what he stands for—­He won’t die, he won’t even care much for losing this game ... not much....  And you will have to forget me.  There is no other way—­no bridge.  We can’t meet, you and I....”

The words goaded me to fury.  I began to pace furiously up and down.  I wanted to tell her that I would throw away everything for her, would crush myself out, would be a lifeless tool, would do anything.  But I could tear no words out of the stone that seemed to surround me.

“You may even tell him, if you like, what I and Gurnard are going to do.  It will make no difference; he will fall.  But you would like him to—­to make a good fight for it, wouldn’t you?  That is all I can do ... for your sake.”