"Darling," she said in a kinder tone, "you can't do this. You know I see other people.""I wish you didn't.""But I do and I will and I made all that perfectly clear from the beginning.""I adore you, Alex… I can't sleep—I can't paint…""Don't talk like that, Harry. You're too good a painter not to concentrate on your work.""Come and see me. Then I'll work.""Don't you dare do that to me. I'm not taking responsibility for your career." Having spent enough years subordinating her own wishes to those of others, she turned to leave."I'm sorry." The young man grasped her arm. "Alex, please… I'm sorry. Tell me you'll come and see me again."Tall and coltish at twenty, he towered over her, but the misery in his eyes was plain to see. She was overcome with guilt. "I'll come over on Friday, but promise me you'll work.""I will… absolutely." Swiftly bending, he kissed her and as quickly said, "I'm sorry… I couldn't resist. I'll finish the Brighton seascape by Friday and you may have it.""You'll sell it to Beecher.
