Part 7
It was rather less than a week after that walk that Capes came
and sat down beside Ann Veronica for their customary talk in the
lunch hour. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she
held out to him--for both these young people had given up the
practice of going out for luncheon--and kept her hand for a
moment to kiss her finger-tips. He did not speak for a moment.
"Well?" she said.
"I say!" he said, without any movement. "Let's go."
"Go!" She did not understand him at first, and then her heart
began to beat very rapidly.
"Stop this--this humbugging," he explained. "It's like the
Picture and the Bust. I can't stand it. Let's go. Go off and
live together--until we can marry. Dare you?"
"Do you mean NOW?"
"At the end of the session. It's the only clean way for us. Are
you prepared to do it?"
Her hands clenched. "Yes," she said, very faintly. And then:
"Of course! Always. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant
all along."
She stared before her, trying to keep back a rush of tears.
Capes kept obstinately stiff, and spoke between his teeth.
"There's endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn't," he said.
"Endless. It's wrong in the eyes of most people. For many of
them it will smirch us forever. . . . You DO understand?"
"Who cares for most people?" she said, not looking at him.
"I do. It means social isolation--struggle."
"If you dare--I dare," said Ann Veronica. "I was never so clear
in all my life as I have been in this business." She lifted
steadfast eyes to him. "Dare!" she said. The tears were welling
over now, but her voice was steady. "You're not a man for
me--not one of a sex, I mean. You're just a particular being
with nothing else in the world to class with you. You are just
necessary to life for me. I've never met any one like you. To
have you is all important. Nothing else weighs against it.
Morals only begin when that is settled. I sha'n't care a rap if
we can never marry. I'm not a bit afraid of anything--scandal,
difficulty, struggle. . . . I rather want them. I do want
them."
"You'll get them," he said. "This means a plunge."
"Are you afraid?"
"Only for you! Most of my income will vanish. Even unbelieving
biological demonstrators must respect decorum; and besides, you
see--you were a student. We shall have--hardly any money."
"I don't care."
"Hardship and danger."
"With you!"
"And as for your people?"
"They don't count. That is the dreadful truth. This--all this
swamps them. They don't count, and I don't care."
Capes suddenly abandoned his attitude of meditative restraint.
"By Jove!" he broke out, "one tries to take a serious, sober
view. I don't quite know why. But this is a great lark, Ann
Veronica! This turns life into a glorious adventure!"
"Ah!" she cried in triumph.
"I shall have to give up biology, anyhow. I've always had a
sneaking desire for the writing-trade. That is what I must do.
I can."
"Of course you can."
"And biology was beginning to bore me a bit. One research is
very like another. . . . Latterly I've been doing things. . . .
Creative work appeals to me wonderfully. Things seem to come
rather easily. . . . But that, and that sort of thing, is just a
day-dream. For a time I must do journalism and work hard. . . .
What isn't a day-dream is this: that you and I are going to put
an end to flummery--and go!"
"Go!" said Ann Veronica, clenching her hands.
"For better or worse."
"For richer or poorer."
She could not go on, for she was laughing and crying at the same
time. "We were bound to do this when you kissed me," she sobbed
through her tears. "We have been all this time-- Only your queer
code of honor-- Honor! Once you begin with love you have to see
it through."
