Opium smoke hung heavy in the air. Joel knew he wasn't allowed to smoke in the apartment. She smiled as she imagined giving him a very stern talking to—then making up passionately after the inevitable fight. The door to Joel's studio was curiously closed. He usually liked to paint with all the doors and windows open to allow for as much light as possible. As Helena approached, she heard quiet sighs and a grunting that distinctly belonged to Joel. Flinging the door wide, she took in the scene. There was movement on the very sofa where she had posed for him and the two had made love together countless times. Joel looked up, mid-coitus with some young harlot, their clothes were strewn around the floor.

The strumpet quickly covered herself while Joel seemed confused and slow to move. "Helena! What are you doing home so early from class? I didn't think you'd be back this soon."

"Joel! How could you?"

"Calm down Helena, let's discuss this."

"Discuss? What is there to discuss?" With that, Helena strode across the room, opened the window, and began throwing Joel's clothing and paints outside.

The terrified girl on the sofa gathered what clothes she could and hastily retreated from the room. Joel could only offer up a wordless outrage as he struggled to dress.

"Run you tart!" Helena called after the fleeing girl, as she flung canvases and brushes out of the open window.

"Helena, it didn't mean anything," Joel began again in a detached tone.

"Well this should mean something. Get out! I never want to see you again you filthy bunter! Get out immediately, or ill cut off your tallywags and hang them from the roof."

Joel left, encouraged by the easel that Helena flung at his head. Now alone in the apartment, she broke down in tears and slid down to the floor, crying. Her breath caught as she looked up at the remaining canvas in the room. Wonderfully depicted in intricate detail, was the body of the naked whore who had just run from the room. Joel had actually finished the painting. That hurt more than anything else. In a rage, she rushed over and grabbed the canvas, intending to smash it over the desk—but she couldn't bring herself to do it. It was beautifully done, likely Joel's best work. She could see the care and love in the brushstrokes. Sadly, she placed the canvas on the ground, where Joel could retrieve it. It would be a shame to destroy it.

For several more hours she wept, visiting each room of the apartments in turn—trying in vain to erase the memories the two had created there. The small kitchen where they had cooked breakfasts together, rainy nights spent wrapped in each other's arms in front of the fire, and passionate afternoons spent in amorous bliss.

She gathered her things, leaving the apartment and her schooling that same day to return to her father's home. As the years rolled by, she tried to dull the memories of the warm summer's days and cool winter evenings spent laughing and talking with Joel. A parade of other lovers almost did the trick. Helena kept her mind occupied, staying busy by helping her father with his business, and with various drugs and stimulants. Though bittersweet, she still loved art and the theatre and took in as much as she could.

When her father grew gravely ill one fall season, it became apparent that she would have to do something to prevent losing everything—including his business. Fortunately, the son of a long-standing trading partner of her father's named Lord Wotton had expressed interest in marriage. Before he died, her father blessed the match on the condition that his daughter be allowed to continue running the trading company that he had spent so many hard years building. Lord Wotton readily agreed, happy to attain such a beautiful bride. He might have reconsidered, had he been able to see the impenetrable walls that she had built around her fragile heart.