s only to understand--"

"Only! He can't understand; that's impossible."

"I believe I could have at his age."

Irene caught his hand. "You were always more of a realist than Jon; and
never so innocent."

"That's true," said Jolyon. "It's queer, isn't it? You and I would tell
our stories to the world without a particle of shame; but our own boy
stumps us."

"We've never cared whether the world approves or not."

"Jon would not disapprove of US!"

"Oh! Jolyon, yes. He's in love, I feel he's in love. And he'd say: 'My
mother once married WITHOUT LOVE! How could she have!' It'll seem to
him a crime! And so it was!"

Jolyon took her hand, and said with a wry smile:

"Ah! why on earth are we born young? Now, if only we were born old and
grew younger year by year we should understand how things happen, and
drop all our cursed intolerance. But you know if the boy is really in
love, he won't forget, even if he goes to Italy. We're a tenacious
breed; and he'll know by instinct why he's being sent. Nothing will
really cure him but the shock of being told."

"Let me try, anyway."

Jolyon stood a moment without speaking. Between this devil and this
deep sea--the pain of a dreaded disclosure and the grief of losing his
wife for two months--he secretly hoped for the devil; yet if she wished
for the deep sea he must put up with it. After all, it would be
training for that departure from which there would be no return. And,
taking her in his arms, he kissed her eyes, and said:

"As you will, my love."

XI

DUET

That "small" emotion, love, grows amazingly when threatened with
extinction. Jon reached Paddington station half an hour before his time
and a full week after, as it seemed to him. He stood at the appointed
book-stall amid a crowd of Sunday travellers, in a Harris tweed suit
exhaling, as it were, the emotion of his thumping heart. He read the
names of the novels on the bookstall, and bought one at last, to avoid
being regarded with suspicion by the book-stall clerk. It was called
"The Heart of the Trail" which must mean something, though it did not
seem to. He also bought "The Lady's Mirror" and "The Landsman." Every
minute was an hour long, and full of horrid imaginings. After nineteen
had passed, he saw her with a bag and a porter wheeling her luggage.
She came swiftly; she came cool. She greeted him as if he were a
brother.

"First class," she said to the porter, "corner seats; opposite."

Jon