With Marian as model he could doubtless paint more than one picture, but strive as he would he could think of no subject; it was Marian as Marian who occupied him entirely, and to paint her portrait in this, that and the other attitude would be not merely banal, but distasteful to him. Further still, with her beside him, near him, within call, there seemed to be no room in his life for any other desire than to be with her, just to see her, to love her, to please her. On the other hand, if they parted, did the experience of the short separation through which he had gone hold out any promise of greater ability to work? Not much. But this new separation would be different; it would be caused by the necessity of work so that they might be together; the better, the quicker the work, the shorter the separation; surely that great incentive would spur him on to success? It was Marian alone whom he must consider. To go on as he was meant being forced to ask her to make sacrifices, and that idea he put behind him at once and finally. To go away for a while, with only occasional meetings with her during the next few months, was her own suggestion, based, indeed, upon other reasons than those upon which he would act, and he appreciated what he believed to be the loving unselfishness that inspired it, for to her, as to him, the parting and the separation would be full of pain. But did not love for her demand of him that he should pursue this course? After all, would not the resultant reward be great? It seemed to him that it refined and purified his love for Marian the making of this sacrifice for her sake. So far his passion had been entirely selfish; he had thought so little of herself and so much of himself; so much of what she gave him, so little of what he gave her; so much of his future with her, so little of what might come to her. It was hot passion at first, overwhelming passion for a beautiful, desirable woman; this passion had not decreased, had not in any way been satiated by possession, but added to it now was the other part of love, which is as unselfish as passion is selfish. Her happiness, her peace, her delight, how could he best secure them? It shocked him at first when he tried to reduce this vague wish to practicality, to find that the first thing he must do was to work for money. There was no escaping from that—he must make money; he must work. He could not work with her beside him—at least he could not do so now; perhaps the time would come when he could not work apart from her—perhaps that time had indeed come, though he did not know it—perhaps—perhaps—; so round and round in this circle his thoughts flew, and the one thing that came forth clear to him was that he must agree to Marian returning to town and to his not seeing her for some weeks.