‘You can’t say that you love me?’

’I think I am always showing it.  Do get ready for dinner now; it’s past seven.  Oh, how foolish you have been!’

Of course their talk lasted half through the night.  Monica held with remarkable firmness to the position she had taken; a much older woman might have envied her steadfast yet quite rational assertion of the right to live a life of her Own apart from that imposed upon her by the duties of wedlock.  A great deal of this spirit and the utterance it found was traceable to her association with the women whom Widdowson so deeply suspected; prior to her sojourn in Rutland Street she could not even have made clear to herself the demands which she now very clearly formulated.  Believing that she had learnt nothing from them, and till of late instinctively opposing the doctrines held by Miss Barfoot and Rhoda Nunn, Monica in truth owed the sole bit of real education she had ever received to those few weeks of attendance in Great Portland Street.  Circumstances were now proving how apt a pupil she had been, even against her will.  Marriage, as is always the case with women capable of development, made for her a new heaven and a new earth; perhaps on no single subject did she now think as on the morning of her wedding-day.

‘You must either trust me completely,’ she said, ’or not at all.  If you can’t and won’t trust me, how can I possibly love you?’

‘Am I never to advise?’ asked her husband, baffled, and even awed, by this extraordinary revelation of a woman he had supposed himself to know thoroughly.

‘Oh, that’s a very different thing from forbidding and commanding!’ she laughed.  ’There was that novel this morning.  Of course I know as well as you do that “Guy Mannering” is better; but that doesn’t say I am not to form my opinion of other books.  You mustn’t be afraid to leave me the same freedom you have yourself.’

The result of it all was that Widdowson felt his passionate love glow with new fire.  For a moment he thought himself capable of accepting this change in their relations.  The marvellous thought of equality between man and wife, that gospel which in far-off days will refashion the world, for an instant smote his imagination and exalted him above his native level.

Monica paid for the energy she had put forth by a day of suffering.  Her head ached intolerably; she had feverish symptoms, and could hardly raise herself from the bed.  It passed, and she was once more eager to go forth under the blue sky that followed the tempest.

‘Will you go with me to Mrs. Cosgrove’s this evening?’ she asked of her husband.