do nothing unless I simplify my life. Only people who are well off can be—complex. It is one thing or the other—"
He hesitated and suddenly had a vision of Ethel weeping as once he had seen her weep with the light on the tears in her eyes.
"No," he said almost brutally. "No. It's like this—. I can't do anything underhand. I mean—. I'm not so amazingly honest—now. But I've not that sort of mind. She would find me out. It would do no good and she would find me out. My life's too complex. I can't manage it and go straight. I—you've overrated me. And besides—. Things have happened. Something—." He hesitated and then snatched at his resolve. "I've got to simplify—and that's the plain fact of the case. I'm sorry, but it is so."
Miss Heydinger made no answer. Her silence astonished him. For nearly twenty seconds perhaps they sat without speaking. With a quick motion she stood up and at once he stood up before her. Her face was flushed, her eyes downcast.
"Good-bye," she said suddenly in a low tone and held out her hand.
"But," said Lewisham and stopped. Miss Heydinger's colour left her.
"Good-bye," she said, looking him suddenly in the eyes and smiling awry. "There is no more to say, is there? Good-bye."
