This was a pure invention of my anger at the moment, for I had fully resolved last night to get rid of Veronica and as soon as possible, and never see her again; but I objected to what seemed to me interference.

Viola turned paler almost than the cloth before us.

“Do you really wish to do so?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said coldly.  “Have you any objection?”

“Yes, I think it would be a great pity,” she replied quietly.  “You will get so drawn to her, so interested in her, it will come between us.”

I looked at her in amaze and anger.  Was this all coincidence?  It must be.  How could she possibly know what had occurred?

We are nearly all of us beasts to women when they appeal to us.  Had the position been reversed and had I been speaking to Viola as she was to me, she would have been all sweetness, accepting my jealous anxiety as a compliment, recognising how sure a sign of passion it is.

“All this seems very childish and silly,” I answered.  “Veronica is nothing to me but a model and will never be anything than that.  I shall keep her as long as I want her, and dismiss her when I choose.  I don’t want to discuss the matter again with you.”

Viola waited till I had finished speaking, then when I ceased, she inclined her head and went out, shutting the door noiselessly behind her.

In that moment even of anger against her, a great throb of admiration beat through me.  Her attitude as she waited by the door, one hand clasping the handle, her face turned towards me, was so perfect, the acquiescence so graceful and dignified; but it was only for a moment, the anger closed over the impulse of love again, and I walked up and down the room full of resentment.

“Why should one,” I muttered, “just because one loves one woman, never be supposed to kiss another, why should there be all this hateful, jealous tyranny?  It is better to be free, as one is as a bachelor, and do what one likes, just take everything as it comes along.”

Then it recurred to me suddenly that I was not married, not tied in any way, I was free, and the remembrance came, too, why it was so—­that Viola herself had refused to take my freedom from me.

“Then when I use it to amuse myself for an hour or two this is the result,” I thought stormily, trying to keep angry with Viola.  “It’s as bad as being married.”

I tried to feel Viola was quite in the wrong, a tiresome, unreasonable, jealous person; but irresistibly my thoughts modified themselves, sobered by that sudden recollection that I was not bound to her nor she to me.  Perhaps I should not have to complain of her tyranny very long.  Waves of memory rolled over me against my will, memories of the wonderful passion that existed between us, something that went down to the roots of my being, that shook me to the very depths, as different as the day from the night from my passing fancy for Veronica’s beauty.  My mind went back to the first night at the studio; I had never felt anything for any other woman that could approach my feelings for her.  She was so different from all the others.  I had known a good many, and they all seemed very much alike, but Viola stood alone amongst them.