Three days after, Emily tore up one of her songs, because Mrs. Bentley had sung it without her leave.  And so on and so on, week after week.  No sooner was one quarrel allayed than signs of another began to appear.  Hubert despaired.  ‘How is this to end?’ he asked himself every day.  Mrs. Bentley begged him to cancel her promise, and allow her to go.  But that was impossible.  He could not remain alone with Emily; if he left her she would not fail to believe that he had gone after her rival.  The situation had become so tense that they ended by discussing these questions almost without reserve.  To make matters worse, Emily had begun visibly to lose her health.  There was neither colour in her cheeks nor light in her eyes; she hardly slept at all, and had grown more than ever like a little shadow.  The doctor had been summoned, and, after prescribing a tonic, had advised quiet and avoidance of all excitement.  Therefore Hubert and Mrs. Bentley agreed never to meet except when Emily was present, and then strove to speak as little as possible to each other.  But the very fact of having to restrain themselves in looks, glances, and every slightest word—­for Emily misinterpreted all things—­whetted their appetites for each other’s society.

In the misery of his study, when he watched the sheet of paper, he often sought relief in remembrance of her sweet manner, and the happy morning he had spent in her companionship.  What he had written under the direct influence of her inspiration still seemed to him to be less bad than the rest of his play; and he began to feel sure that, if ever this play were written, it would be written in the benign charm of her sweet encouragement, in the reposeful shadow of her presence.  But that presence was forbidden him—­that presence that seemed so necessary; and for what reason?  Turning on the circumstances of his life, he raged against them, declaring that it would be folly to allow his very life’s desire to be frittered away to gratify a young girl’s caprice,—­a caprice which in a few years she would laugh at.  And whenever he was not thinking of his play, he remembered the charm of Mrs. Bentley’s company, and the beneficent effect it had on his work.  He had never known a woman he had liked so much, and he felt—­he started at the thought, so like an inspiration did it seem to him—­that the only possible solution of the present situation was his marriage with her.  Once he was married, Emily would soon learn to forget him.  They would take her up to London for the season; and, amid the healthy excitement of balls and parties, her girlish fancy would evaporate.  No doubt she would meet again the young cavalry officer whose addresses she had received so coldly.  She would be sure to meet him again—­be sure to think him the most charming man in the world; they would marry, and she would make him the best possible wife.  The kindest action they could do Emily would be to marry.  There was nothing else to do, and they must do something, or else the girl would die.  It seemed wonderful to Hubert that he had not thought of all this before.  ’It is the very obvious solution of the problem,’ he said; and his heart beat as he heard Mrs. Bentley’s step in the corridor.  It died away in the distance; but a few days after, when he heard it again, he jumped from his chair, and ran to the door.  ‘Come,’ he said, ‘I want to speak to you.’