What are we to do?
Am I to go away and see you no more?
How can we live so, Beatrice ?" "Yes, Geoffrey," she answered heavily, taking him by the hand and gazing up into his face, "you are to go away and see me no more, not for years and years.

This is what we have brought upon ourselves, it is the price that we must pay for this hour which has gone.

You are to go away to-morrow, that we may be put out of temptation, and you must come back no more.

Sometimes I shall write to you, and sometimes perhaps you will write to me, till the thing becomes a burden, then you can stop.
And whether you forget me or not--and, Geoffrey, I do not think you will--you will know that I shall never forget you, whom I saved from the sea--to love me." There was something so sweet and infinitely tender about her words, instinct as they were with natural womanly passion, that Geoffrey bent at heart beneath their weight as a fir bends beneath the gentle, gathering snow.

What was he to do, how could he leave her?
And yet she was right.