University of Virginia Library

7

It was rather less than a week after that walk that Capes came and sat down beside Ann Veronica for their

customary talk in the lunch hour. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him —for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon —and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. He did not speak for a moment.

“Well?” she said.

“I say!” he said, without any movement. “Let's go.”

“Go!” She did not understand him at first, and then her heart began to beat very rapidly.

“Stop this —this humbugging,” he explained. “It's like the Picture and the Bust. I can't stand it. Let's go. Go off and live together —until we can marry. Dare you?”

“Do you mean now?”

“At the end of the session. It's the only clean way for us. Are you prepared to do it?”

Her hands clenched. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. And then: “Of course! Always. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along.”

She stared before her, trying to keep back a rush of tears.

Capes kept obstinately stiff, and spoke between his teeth.

“There's endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn't,” he said. “Endless. It's wrong in the eyes of most people. For many of them it will smirch us forever. . . . You do understand?”

“Who cares for most people?” she said, not looking at him.

“I do. It means social isolation —struggle.”

“If you dare —I dare,” said Ann Veronica. “I was never so clear in all my life as I have been in this business.” She lifted steadfast eyes to him. “Dare!” she said. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. “You're not a man for me —not one of a sex, I mean. You're just a particular being with nothing else in the world to class with you. You are just necessary to life for me. I've never met any one like you. To have you is all important. Nothing else weighs against it. Morals only begin when that is settled. I sha'n't care a rap if we can never marry. I'm not a bit afraid of anything —scandal, difficulty, struggle. . . . I rather want them. I do want them.”

“You'll get them,” he said. “This means a plunge.” “Are you afraid?”

“Only for you! Most of my income will vanish. Even unbelieving biological demonstrators must respect decorum; and besides, you see —you were a student. We shall have —hardly any money.”

“I don't care.”

“Hardship and danger.”

“With you!”

“And as for your people?”

“They don't count. That is the dreadful truth. This —all this swamps them. They don't count, and I don't care.”

Capes suddenly abandoned his attitude of meditative restraint. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. I don't quite know why. But this is a great lark, Ann Veronica! This turns life into a glorious adventure!”

“Ah!” she cried in triumph.

“I shall have to give up biology, anyhow. I've always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. That is what I must do. I can.”

“Of course you can.”

“And biology was beginning to bore me a bit. One research is very like another. . . . Latterly I've been doing things. . . . Creative work appeals to me wonderfully. Things seem to come rather easily. . . . But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. For a time I must do journalism and work hard. . . . What isn't a day-dream is this: that you and I are going to put an end to flummery —and go!”

“Go!” said Ann Veronica, clenching her hands.

“For better or worse.”

“For richer or poorer.”

She could not go on, for she was laughing and crying at the same time. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. “We have been all this time — Only your queer code of honor — Honor! Once you begin with love you have to see it through.”