"Yes, but you won't go back to London. It's absurd."
"I must be with George; I must make him care to live, and down here he can't. He says the thought of seeing you and of hearing about you——— I am not justifying him: I am only saying what has happened."
"Oh, Mr. Emerson"—she took hold of his hand—"you mustn't. I've been bother enough to the world by now. I can't have you moving out of your house when you like it, and perhaps losing money through it—all on my account. You must stop! I am just going to Greece."
"All the way to Greece?"
Her manner altered.
"To Greece?"
"So you must stop. You won't talk about this business, I know. I can trust you both."
"Certainly you can. We either have you in our lives, or leave you to the life that you have chosen."
"I shouldn't want———"
"I suppose Mr. Vyse is very angry with George? No, it was wrong of George to try. We have pushed our beliefs too far. I fancy that we deserve sorrow."
She looked at the books again—black, brown, and that acrid, theological blue. They surrounded the visitors on every side; they were piled on the
