had the least resentful of natures. He bore his
parents no grudge in this hour of his distress. For one so young there
was a rather strange power in him of seeing things in some sort of
proportion. It was worse for Fleur, worse for his mother even, than it
was for him. Harder than to give up was to be given up, or to be the
cause of some one you loved giving up for you. He must not, would not
behave grudgingly! While he stood watching the tardy sunlight, he had
again that sudden vision of the world which had come to him the night
before. Sea on sea, country on country, millions on millions of people,
all with their own lives, energies, joys, griefs, and suffering--all
with things they had to give up, and separate struggles for existence.
Even though he might be willing to give up all else for the one thing
he couldn't have, he would be a fool to think his feelings mattered
much in so vast a world, and to behave like a cry-baby or a cad. He
pictured the people who had nothing--the millions who had given up life
in the war, the millions whom the war had left with life and little
else; the hungry children he had read of, the shattered men; people in
prison, every kind of unfortunate. And--they did not help him much. If
one had to miss a meal, what comfort in the knowledge that many others
had to miss it too? There was more distraction in the thought of
getting away out into this vast world of which he knew nothing yet. He
could not go on staying here, walled in and sheltered, with everything
so slick and comfortable, and nothing to do but brood and think what
might have been. He could not go back to Wansdon, and the memories of
Fleur. If he saw her again he could not trust himself; and if he stayed
here or went back there, he would surely see her. While they were
within reach of each other that must happen. To go far away and
quickly, was the only thing to do. But, however much he loved his
mother, he did not want to go away with her. Then feeling that was
brutal, he made up his mind desperately to propose that they should go
to Italy. For two hours in that melancholy room he tried to master
himself; then dressed solemnly for dinner.

His mother had done the same. They ate little, at some length, and
talked of his father's catalogue. The Show was arranged for October,
and beyond clerical detail there was nothing more to do.

After dinner she put on a cloak and they went out; walked a little,
talked a little, till they we