He walked out and left them. They heard him guiding his mother up-stairs.

“Lucy!” the voices called.

She turned to Mr. Emerson in despair. But his face revived her. It was the face of a saint who understood.

“Now it is all dark. Now Beauty and Passion seem never to have existed. I know. But remember the mountains over Florence and the view. Ah, dear, if I were George, and gave you one kiss, it would make you brave. You have to go cold into a battle that needs warmth, out into the muddle that you have made yourself; and your mother and all your friends will despise you, oh, my darling, and rightly, if it is ever right to despise. George still dark, all the tussle and the misery without a word from him. Am I justified?” Into his own eyes tears came.