"I'm afraid to think."
"Then you do think he might just—go off?"
She sighed a little. "I suppose it has to be faced."
"And in that case would you go with him?"
She started nervously. He had put in the paddle. But he only gave a couple of strokes, and withdrew it again. Her voice was low.
"I would, of course. To the end of the world. But that's the whole point. He never wanted me. He doesn't want me now. He won't want me then."
I saw—only too plainly. Naturally he would not want her. It was the very essence of his wandering that he should be unhampered and alone. That which she now had she had; but it seemed to me that it was all she would ever have. She had thrown, and—won? Lost? Which? That was for her to say. Had she remained content as she was she might have kept him on the original terms in perpetuity; but it looked as if in precipitating the event she had encompassed her own defeat. Her eyes were now on him as if they would never see him again.
"Shall we go across to him?" I said.
She shook her head. "Don't worry him. There's no stopping it. He's bound to go. There, I didn't want to say it, but it's better to face it. He's fighting with the Wanderlust now. And if he goes it isn't the end. There are stages beyond that, and there's no stopping them either. He'll come back in the end."
"Then you'll let him go?"