Then, you know, I suppose I folded up this newspaper and put it in my pocket.  But my memory of that meeting ends with the face of Nettie turning to go.

Section 6

I remember all that very distinctly to this day.  I could almost vouch for the words I have put into our several mouths.  Then comes a blank.  I have a dim memory of being back in the house near the Links and the bustle of Melmount’s departure, of finding Parker’s energy distasteful, and of going away down the road with a strong desire to say good-bye to Melmount alone.

Perhaps I was already doubting my decision to part for ever from Nettie, for I think I had it in mind to tell him all that had been said and done. . . .

I don’t think I had a word with him or anything but a hurried hand clasp.  I am not sure.  It has gone out of my mind.  But I have a very clear and certain memory of my phase of bleak desolation as I watched his car recede and climb and vanish over Mapleborough Hill, and that I got there my first full and definite intimation that, after all, this great Change and my new wide aims in life, were not to mean indiscriminate happiness for me.  I had a sense of protest, as against extreme unfairness, as I saw him go.  “It is too soon,” I said to myself, “to leave me alone.”

I felt I had sacrificed too much, that after I had said good-bye to the hot immediate life of passion, to Nettie and desire, to physical and personal rivalry, to all that was most intensely myself, it was wrong to leave me alone and sore hearted, to go on at once with these steely cold duties of the wider life.  I felt new born, and naked, and at a loss.

“Work!” I said with an effort at the heroic, and turned about with a sigh, and I was glad that the way I had to go would at least take me to my mother. . . .

But, curiously enough, I remember myself as being fairly cheerful in the town of Birmingham that night, I recall an active and interested mood.  I spent the night in Birmingham because the train service on was disarranged, and I could not get on.  I went to listen to a band that was playing its brassy old-world music in the public park, and I fell into conversation with a man who said he had been a reporter upon one of their minor local papers.  He was full and keen upon all the plans of reconstruction that were now shaping over the lives of humanity, and I know that something of that noble dream came back to me with his words and phrases.  We walked up to a place called Bourneville by moonlight, and talked of the new social groupings that must replace the old isolated homes, and how the people would be housed.