I admit, but neither very 'smart,' to use an odious word, nor very interesting, as Bohemians are interesting. I have norrow conventional notions for myself. I shrink from the freemasonry of women who smoke, and talk 'shop,' and go everywhere alone, just because they write for the papers. Your men friends frighten me; they have tidings of the latest discovery, the latest news at the edge of their lips, while I never glance at a newspaper without just missing the one thing you consider worth reading. But then I know that I have been so trained to keep to my own particular path in the world, that I should lose your love by making myself ridiculous and being unnatural if I tried to alter my whole life now. You see, dear, I appreciate what I cannot attain. Many women are the same — women born old-fashioned, who feel what they never speak about to any one. I have merely the courage to confess to you."
"And all this" — he was astonished, but his eyes twinkled — "all this leads to — what?"
"To my greater courage in venturing to beg you to be more yourself."
"Have I changed?" The man's voice was hard and suspicious.
"Yes, dear," she faltered; "you have — a little — you don't write."
"Good God! I need a holiday badly enough."
"You are so lazy, Gerald, about everything. You see, darling, I want to be able to lean on you, to rely on your advice, to be able to count on your help in so many things. I should not complain if I had not been able to do that before, but I must speak when I see you so lazy and indifferent. Gerald, you move and talk as if nothing mattered. There is no business connected with our new home which you will undertake if you can help it. You simply drift where the mood takes you, and, if your love for me were not just the same, I should believe that you were weary of everything, including myself."
He frowned and stared into the street.
"Am I so changed as that?"
She had said all by then, and was grieved to have distressed him, although she could not wholly grieve because her words had taken effect. She knelt down by his chair and put her arms around him.
He turned his head and looked down at her.
"I dare say that you are right, little woman. I'll think about it, and get to work again." He sighed. "I have lost sight of everything but you. I want no friends, no other interests, no other ties. I only" — he bent low — "want your kisses; kiss me — kiss me."
She obeyed, and was glad he was not vexed with her. She did not realize that the man had a passionate craving for a woman's caresses and a woman's sympathy, which might lead him, in later days, to be well pleased with these things from the lips and hearts of other women.
He was merely for the moment taking refuge in the gratification of the feeling which had led him to desert his former life and former ambitions. But she had brought the past vividly before him, and as she sank into a sitting posture, with one arm across his knees, his face (which she could not see) was stern and worried. His hand touched her fair hair gently, for he was very tender with women, and wished to assure her that nothing in her words had wounded him; but he gazed moodily at the bright street, and his thoughts were far from the girl by his side.
He suffered acutely. The child whom he loved and adored had evoked the memory of another beautiful face, with the great mass of black hair lying in a loose knot in the nape of a white neck, the dark eyes flashing scorn into his own, the deep musical voice, strong with passion, reading a burial service over all his ambition, all his past beliefs.
"Go," she had said; "go and marry this mad fancy, this pink-and-white daisy. Throw your pen away, and forget that you have worked for men and women, in the arms of one simple girl. But be content with the life you have chosen. Come no more to me for sympathy, for help in your work or interest in your career. The latter is finished. Gerald Stanley the author is dead from this time to the end of all things, and the woman who helped to make him what he was resigns him to the woman who has
