“Because if we have, either of us,” Amory continued, looking fearlessly before her, “I think we ought to face the fact. There can’t be two opinions about that. Whatever else we do, Cosimo, don’t let’s muddle. I simply couldn’t bear to sloven along, keeping up a pretence of friendship that was simply an intellectual hypocrisy. Either we still think the same about the great basic facts of Life, or we don’t; but don’t in either case let’s be cowards about it. If I’m to go forward alone, I’d much, much rather know it. No doubt it’ll be strange at first, but I shall get used to it, I suppose.”
She might have found it a little difficult to tell Cosimo exactly what it was she was so brave about, but unflinchingly brave about something she certainly seemed to be. With both hands she cast back her hair, showing her dauntless brow; her chin was held high above the bluebell-stalk of a throat, the lids were dropped over the shallow, gold-flecked eyes. As if she saw before her the bleak prospect of years to come without the intellectual companionship of Cosimo, the corners of her mouth gave a momentary twitch, but were instantly courageous again; and she reopened the eyes. They were full of sorrow and resolve. Cosimo had changed....
“Amory,” he pleaded, “don’t look like that.” This time he touched her hand.
“Like what?” she asked, without emotion.
“As if—it’s so ridiculous—as if it wasn’t all your fancy. You’re a bit run down, that’s all that’s the matter with you.”
“I have felt better,” she admitted, closing the eyes again and passing her finger-tips over the lids.
“Look here—can I get you something—knock a chemist up or anything?”
“No, thank you, Cosimo.”
“But—but—I’m really worried about you, dear——”
“You mustn’t worry, Cosimo. These things have to be faced.”