It's been going on for twenty-two years."

"Oh come, not all the time, John."

"Pretty nearly. On and off."

"More off than on, I think."

"What does that matter when it's 'on' now? Anyhow I've got to go."

"Go, if you must. Do the best for yourself, my dear. Only don't say I
made you."

"I'm not saying anything."

"Well--I'm sorry."

All the same her smile declared her profound and triumphant satisfaction
with herself. It remained with her after he had gone. She would rather
he had stayed, following her about, waiting for her, ready to her call,
amusing her; but his going was the finer tribute to her power: the
finest, perhaps, that he could have well paid. She hadn't been prepared
for such a complete surrender.


vi

Something had happened to Eliot. He sulked. Indoors and out, working and
playing, at meal-times and bed-time he sulked. Jerrold said of him that
he sulked in his sleep.