“Go? where?”
“I don’t know. To some convent in Scythia, I suppose.”
“Not with my consent.”
“But do you forgive me?”
“Would you do it again?”
“Oh, Maurice!” she hid her face on his shoulder. “If your life depended upon it?”
“Not even then. Not without asking me, at any rate.”
“But that would mean not doing it. Don’t make me promise!”
“I must. Eirene, we have hard work before us, and we ought to be shoulder to shoulder. You mustn’t make me feel that there’s a danger of your working against me, for any reason whatever. Only tell me before you do things. I think you’ll find that it’s happier for both of us.”
“I will,” she murmured. “And look, Maurice, I scribbled this down just now, and I want you to have it put into proper form. Is it too dark for you to read it? It is to say that I give up my right of dealing with Mr Teffany-Wise’s money. It has done more to separate us than anything.”