The helpless physical closeness of the other night was as nothing compared to this avowal.
'You mean—it's only because of Jill?'
'How should it not be?'
'We belong to each other—but for Jill?'
Marthe Ludérac turned away her eyes and made no reply.
'It's not as if I didn't love Jill,' Graham muttered. 'It seems to me that I've never loved her so much.'
'That is because you feel her menaced,' said Marthe Ludérac.
They went on then, up a mossy side path where the sun seldom fell.
'Listen to me,' said Graham. The path was narrow, their shoulders nearly brushed as they went, their hands could, with a slight gesture, touch; but they walked on evenly, sad Médor following. 'That may be true. But we must face the truth. You've changed my life, as I've changed yours. We are all menaced. But what Jill would want first of all from us is the truth. And the truth is that you and I belong to each other. You must come away with me. Jill is young and strong and she has her home and friends. I've taken her away from everything she loves; it's my life, not her own she lives. It will be horrible for her; but it won't all be loss; and she'd rather lose me than keep me, loving you.—We must leave Buissac together. At once.'
They had reached the further end of the garden and were come to the wall again and out into the sun. 'It is
