“Why?  Were you as innocently hopeful as I was?  Did you expect my experience of married life to help me in writing my book?”

Penrose replied after a pause, speaking a little sadly.  “I expected your married life to encourage you in all your highest aspirations,” he said.

(Stella turned pale with suppressed anger.  He had spoken with perfect sincerity.  The unhappy woman believed that he lied, for the express purpose of rousing irritation against her, in her husband’s irritable mind.  She listened anxiously for Romayne’s answer.)

He made no answer.  Penrose changed the subject.  “You are not looking very well,” he gently resumed.  “I am afraid your health has interfered with your work.  Have you had any return—?”

It was still one of the characteristics of Romayne’s nervous irritability that he disliked to hear the terrible delusion of the Voice referred to in words.  “Yes,” he interposed bitterly, “I have heard it again and again.  My right hand is as red as ever, Penrose, with the blood of a fellow-creature.  Another destruction of my illusions when I married!”

“Romayne!  I don’t like to hear you speak of your marriage in that way.”

“Oh, very well.  Let us go back to my book.  Perhaps I shall get on better with it now you are here to help me.  My ambition to make a name in the world has never taken so strong a hold on me (I don’t know why, unless other disappointments have had something to do with it) as at this time, when I find I can’t give my mind to my work.  We will make a last effort together, my friend!  If it fails, we will put my manuscripts into the fire, and I will try some other career.  Politics are open to me.  Through politics, I might make my mark in diplomacy.  There is something in directing the destinies of nations wonderfully attractive to me in my present state of feeling.  I hate the idea of being indebted for my position in the world, like the veriest fool living, to the accidents of birth and fortune.  Are you content with the obscure life that you lead?  Did you not envy that priest (he is no older than I am) who was sent the other day as the Pope’s ambassador to Portugal?”

Penrose spoke out at last without hesitation.  “You are in a thoroughly unwholesome state of mind,” he said.

Romayne laughed recklessly.  “When was I ever in a healthy state of mind?” he asked.

Penrose passed the interruption over without notice.  “If I am to do you any good,” he resumed, “I must know what is really the matter with you.  The very last question that I ought to put, and that I wish to put, is the question which you force me to ask.”

“What is it?”

“When you speak of your married life,” said Penrose, “your tone is the tone of a disappointed man.  Have you any serious reason to complain of Mrs. Romayne?”

(Stella rose to her feet, in her eagerness to hear what her husband’s answer would be.)