‘Don’t you think it does?’ said Conway, stepping back and taking another look at the picture.  ’I find myself talking to all manner of people about all manner of things.’

‘You are different from me.  I cannot talk to all manner of people.’

’Politics, you know, and art, and a little scandal, and the wars, with a dozen other things, make talking easy enough, I think.  I grant you this, that it is very often a great bore.  Hardly a day passes that I don’t wish to cut out somebody’s tongue.’

‘Do you wish to cut out my tongue, Conway?’

He began to perceive that she was determined to talk about herself, and that there was no remedy.  He dreaded it, not because he did not like the woman, but from a conviction that she was going to make some comparison between her and Clara Van Siever.  In his ordinary humour he liked a little pretence at romance, and was rather good at that sort of love-making which in truth means anything but love.  But just now he was really thinking of matrimony, and had on this very morning acknowledged to himself that he had become sufficiently attached to Clara Van Siever to justify him in asking her to be his wife.  In his present mood he was not anxious for one of those tilts with blunted swords and half-severed lances in the list of Cupid of which Mrs Dobbs Broughton was so fond.  Nevertheless, if she insisted that he should now descend into the arena and go through the paraphernalia of a mock tournament, he must obey her.  It is the hardship of men that when called upon by women for romance, they are bound to be romantic, whether the opportunity serves them or not.  A man must produce romance, or at least submit to it, when duly summoned, even though he should have a sore throat or a headache.  He is a brute if he decline such an encounter—­and feels that, should he so decline persistently, he will ever after be treated as a brute.  There are many Potiphar’s wives who never dream of any mischief, and Josephs who are very anxious to escape, though they are asked to return only whisper for whisper.  Mrs Dobbs Broughton had asked him whether he wished that her tongue should be cut out, and he had of course replied that her words had always been a joy to him—­never a trouble.  It occurred to him as he made his little speech that it would only have served her right if he had answered her in quite another strain; but she was a woman, and was young and pretty, and was entitled to flattery.  ’They have always been a joy to me,’ he said, repeating his last words as he strove to continue his work.

‘A deadly joy,’ she replied, not quite knowing what she herself meant.  ’A deadly joy, Conway.  I wish with all my heart that we had never known each other.’

’I do not.  I will never wish away the happiness of my life, even should it be followed by misery.’

’You are a man, and if trouble comes upon you, you can bear it on your shoulders.  A woman suffers more, just because another’s shoulders may have to bear the burden.’