to be done must be done by myself alone."

"Then it ought to be done well."

With an instant's impulse he moved towards her. She went to the window,
however, and she said: "Here's Fabian. You'll be glad of that. You'll
want to say good-bye to him and Sibyl." She ran from him to the front
door. "Fabian--Fabian, here's a bad boy who wants to tell you things
he won't tell me." With these words she went into the garden.

"I don't think he'll tell me," came Fabian's voice. "Why should he?"

A moment afterwards the two men met.

"Well, what's the trouble, Carnac?" asked Fabian in a somewhat
challenging voice.

"I'm going away."

"Oh--for how long?" Fabian asked quizzically. "I don't know--a year,
perhaps. I want to make myself a better artist, and also free myself."

Now his eyes were on Junia in her summer-time recreation, and her voice,
humming a light-opera air, was floating to him through the autumn
morning.

"Has something got you in its grip, then?"

"I'm the victim of a reckless past, like you." Something provocative was
in his voice and in his words.