can't stand it; that I'm too
unhappy. I'd rather she thought I cared for you than that she should
think you cared for me."

"She'll think it all the same."

"Then I shall have to lie. I must risk it.... Oh Jerry, don't look so
awful! I've got to go. We've settled it that we can't go on deceiving
her, and we aren't going to make her unhappy. There's nothing else to be
done."

"Except to bear it."

"And how long do you suppose that'll last? We _can't_ bear it. Look at
it straight. It's all so horribly simple. If we were beasts and only
thought of ourselves and didn't think of Maisie it wouldn't matter to us
what we did. But we can't be beasts. We can't lie to Maisie, and we
can't tell her the truth. We can't go on seeing each other without
wanting each other--unbearably--and we can't go on wanting each other
without--some day--giving in. It comes back the first minute we're
alone. And we don't mean to give in. So we mustn't see each other,
that's all. Can you tell me one other thing I can do?"

"But why should it be _you_? Why should you get the worst of it?"

"Because one of us has got to clear out. It can't be you, so it's got to
be me. And going away isn't the worst of it. It'll be worse for you
sticking on here where everything reminds you--At least I shall have new
things to keep my mind off it."

"Nothing will keep your mind off it. You'll fret yourself to death."

"No, I shan't. I shall have too much to do. You're _not_ to be sorry for
me, Jerrold."

"But you're giving up everything. The Barrow Farm. The place you wanted.
You won't have a thing."

"I don't want 'things.' It's easier to chuck them than to hang on to them
when they'll remind me.... Really, if I could see any other way I'd take
it."

"But you can't go. You're not fit to go. You're ill."

"I shall be all right when I get there."

"But what do you think you're going to _do_ in Canada? It's not as if
you'd got anything to go for."

"I shall find something. I shall work on somebody's ranch first and
learn Canadian farming. Then I shall look out for land and buy it. I've
got stacks of money. All Grandpapa Everitt's, and the money for the
farm. Stacks. I shall get on all right."

"When did you think of all this?"

"Last night."

"I see. I made you."

"No. I made myself. After all, it's the easiest way."

"For you, or me?"

"For both of us. Honestly, it's the only straight thing. I ought to have
done it long ago."

"It means nev