‘I told you in my letter,’ she answered, somewhat acridly.

’There was no explanation.  You said something I couldn’t understand, about having a right to ask me to stay here.’

She glanced at him with incredulous disdain.

‘If you don’t understand, I can’t put it into plainer words.’

’Well now, let me put the whole matter into plainer words than I have liked to use.’  Rolfe spoke deliberately, and not unkindly, though he was tempted to give way to wrath at what he imagined a display of ignoble and groundless jealousy.  ’All along I have allowed you to take your own course.  No, I mustn’t say “allowed”, the word is inapplicable; I never claimed the right to dictate to you.  We agreed that this was the way for rational husband and wife.  It seemed to us that I had no more right to rule over you than you to lay down the law for me.  Using your freedom, you chose to live the life of an artist —­ that is to say, you troubled yourself as little as possible about home and family.  I am not complaining —­ not a bit of it.  The thing was an experiment, to be sure; but I have held to the conditions, watched their working.  Latterly I began to see that they didn’t work well, and it appears that you agree with me.  This is how matters stand; or rather, this is how they stood until, for some mysterious reason, you seemed to grow unfriendly.  The reason is altogether mysterious; I leave you to explain it.  From my point of view, the failure of our experiment is simple and natural enough.  Though I had only myself to blame, I have felt for a long time that you were in an utterly false position.  Now you begin to see things in the same light.  Well and good; why can’t we start afresh?  The only obstacle is your unfriendly feeling.  Give me an opportunity of removing it.  I hate to be on ill terms with you; it seems monstrous, unaccountable.  It puts us on a level with married folk in a London lodging-house.  Is it necessary to sink quite so low?’

Alma listened with trembling intensity, and seemed at first unable to reply.  Her agitation provoked Harvey more than it appealed to his pity.

‘If you can’t do as I wish,’ she said at length, with an endeavour to speak calmly, ’I see no use in making any change in my own life.  There will be no need of me.  I shall make arrangements to go on with my professional career.’

Harvey’s features for a moment set themselves in combativeness, but as quickly they relaxed, and showed an ambiguous smile.

‘No need of you —­ and Ruth going to leave us?’

‘There oughtn’t to be any difficulty in finding someone just as good.’

’Perhaps there ought not to be; but we may thank our stars if we find anyone half as trustworthy.  The chances are that a dozen will come and go before we settle down again.  I don’t enjoy that prospect, and I shall want a good deal of help from you in bearing the discomfort.’