r
Venice, or somewhere."

"And then come back?" she asked.

"For a time--yes--certainly," he answered.

"I don't think I can ever come back to Skeaton," she said in a whisper,
as though speaking to herself. He could see that she was controlling
herself and steadying her voice with the greatest difficulty. "Of
course I must come, Paul, if you want me to. It's been all my fault
from the very beginning----"

"Oh no," he broke in, "it hasn't."

"Yes, it has. I've just spoilt your life and Grace's. You were both
very happy until I came. I had no right to marry you when I didn't love
you. I didn't know then all I know now. But that's no excuse. I should
have known. I was younger than most girls are, though."

Paul said:

"But Maggie, you're not to blame yourself at all. I think if we were
somewhere else than Skeaton it would be easier. And now after what has
happened--"

Maggie broke in: "You couldn't leave Skeaton, Paul. You know you
couldn't. It would just break your heart. All the work of your life has
been here--everything you've ever done. And Grace too."

"No, no, you're wrong," said Paul vigorously. "A change is probably
what I need. I've been too long in the same place. Time goes so fast
that one doesn't realise. And for Grace, too, I expect a change will be
better."

"And do you think," said Maggie, "that Grace will ever live with me now
in the same house when she knows that I've driven you from Skeaton?
Grace is quite right. She's just to feel as she does about me."

"Then Grace must go," said Paul firmly, looking at Maggie and feeling
that the one thing that he needed was that she should be in his arms
and he kissing her. "Maggie, if we go away, you and I, right away from
all of this, perhaps then you can--you will--" he stopped.

She shook her head. "Never, Paul. Never. Do you know what I've seen
this last week? That I've left all those who really wanted me. My
aunts, very much they needed me, and I was selfish and wouldn't give
them what they wanted, and tried to escape from them. You and Grace
don't need me. Nobody wants anything here in Skeaton. You're all full.
It isn't my fault, Paul, but everything seems to me dead here. They
don't mean anything they say in Church, and the Church doesn't mean
anything either. The Chapel was wrong in London too, but it was more
right than the Church here is. I don't know what religion is or where
it is: I don't know anything now except that one ought to be wit