f course a girl can always go on being
called by her own name if she likes. That has points."

"Of course one could do that," Gerda pondered.

"It's a sound plan in some ways. It saves trouble and explanation
to go on with the name you've published your things under before
marriage.... By the way, what about your poems, Gerda? They'll be about
ready by the time we get our press going, won't they? We can afford to
have some slight stuff of that sort if we get hold of a few really good
things to start with, to make our name."

Gerda's thoughts were not on her poems, nor on Kay's press, but on his
advice about matrimony. For the first time she wavered. If Kay thought
that.... It set the business in a new light. And of course other people
_were_ doing it; sound people, the people who talked the same language
and belonged to the same set as one's self.

Kay had spoken. It was the careless, authentic voice of youth speaking to
youth. It was a trumpet blast making a breach in the walls against which
the batteries of middle age had thundered in vain. Gerda told herself
that she must look further into this, think it over again, talk it over
with other people of the age to know what was right. If it could be
managed with honour, she would find it a great relief to give up on this
point. For Barry was so firm; he would never give up; and, after all, one
of them must, if it could be done with a clear conscience.

2

Ten days later Gerda said to Barry, "I've been thinking it over again,
Barry, and I've decided that perhaps it will be all right for us to get
married after all."

Barry took both her hands and kissed each in turn, to show that he was
not triumphing but adoring.

"You mean it? You feel you can really do it without violating your
conscience? Sure, darling?"

"Yes, I think I'm sure. Lots of quite sensible, good people have done it
lately."

"Oh any number, of course--if _that's_ any reason."

"Not, not those people. My sort of people, I mean. People who believe
what I do, and wouldn't tie themselves up and lose their liberty for
anything."

"I agree with Lenin. He says liberty is a bourgeois dream."

"Barry, I may keep my name, mayn't I? I may still be called Gerda
Bendish, by people in general?"

"Of course, if you like. Rather silly, isn't it? Because it won't _be_
your name. But that's your concern."

"It's the name I've always written and drawn under, you see."

"Yes. I see your point. Of course